Mr B Cooks Too

My fragrant other half, Mr B, cooked last night’s dinner of a cold Italian spread followed by a sausage and bean casserole and mash. Don’t you just wish you lived with us, in our one-bed second floor flat?

Apparently, the skins came off the sausages in the casserole. So he picked them out. I would have kept them in, but de gustibus non est disputandum. The beans were pre-cooked so only went in at the last minute. And, okay, it’s not a pretty dish. But that’s proper food, that is.

I do not fathom the secrets of Mr B’s marvellous mashed potatoes. I try not to think about it, for fear of getting too close and scaring the magic away.

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I bought a friend some wasabi peas because he likes them and I like him. I hadn’t tasted them before and they were suprisingly nutty and made my nose tingle. I enjoyed them. Until he looked at the nutritional information (never a good idea).