Cooking for Two (and apparently for Daz)

Cooking for two is supposed to be easy, right? Kids have flown the nest, fewer mouths to feed, less chaos in the kitchen… job done. 

Wrong. 

Because what no one tells you is that when it is just you and your other half, you suddenly realise… he has become ridiculously picky. One minute he will eat anything with veg, the next he is acting like the only acceptable meal on earth is a pork chop. Honestly, I do not know who I am cooking for half the time. 

Take Spaghetti Bolognese, for example. 
Our daughter’s favourite meal growing up. 

Back in the day, if I asked what they wanted for dinner, he would shout, “Pork chop!” and she would immediately kick off because she was sick to death of it. So, naturally, she would shout back “Spag bol!”—purely to wind him up. It was like living in a food-based battleground. 

Now? The kids have gone, and I still do not get an easy life. 

Because here is the thing… I love pasta. 
My other half? Not so much. 
Unless it is a cold pasta salad (which, let us face it, barely counts). 

So, whenever I fancy spag bol, it is basically a solo craving. Well, not entirely solo—because whenever we cook too much, the leftovers get sent into work with my husband… usually for Daz. 

Now Daz, on the other hand, is my kind of eater. Loves his food, appreciates a good meal, and never complains. In fact, he enjoys it so much he even tells his other half that my cooking is better than hers. I am not sure how well that goes down at home, but I will happily take the compliment! 

Anyway, a few weeks ago I was really craving Spaghetti Bolognese. Proper comfort food. So, I made it. 

My other half walks in from work and asks the usual question: “What’s for dinner?” 

Without even thinking, I said: “Me and Daz are having spag bol… you’re having a pork chop.” 

The look on his face was priceless. Absolutely priceless. But I carried on as normal, did not think much of it. 

A couple of days later, he comes home from work, and I casually ask: “Did Daz enjoy his dinner?” 

Well. 

Not only did Daz enjoy it but he was also making that much noise eating it, his son came downstairs to see what all the fuss was about. Tried it. Declared it the best Bolognese he had ever had. 

Then everyone else got involved. His other half. Her friend. One by one, drawn in by the hype… and every single one of them agreed: 

The best Bolognese they had ever had.! 

They could not stop talking about it. 

I am stood there thinking, all this over my spag bol? 

And just when I thought it couldn’t get any better, my husband tells me he’s also been sharing the story at work—about the night he asked what was for dinner and got told I was cooking for me and Daz… while he got a pork chop. 

So now, apparently, I have gained a bit of a reputation. 

Cooking for two might be a nightmare… 
…but cooking for Daz? 

Now that is clearly where I shine.