Stuffed Flank Steak
I am a silly sort of person.
While my sister relishes any opportunity to have a car all to herself, I cower in fear. She calls it empowering, I call it burdensome. She would zip anywhere and everywhere with it. Just name the place. My car is like bus or train service - it only stops are designated places. New stops are unthinkable to me. Until someone suggests otherwise.
A few nights ago, we had this conversation:
Me: "I need to get some ingredients for my recipe." I'm always working on some recipes remember?
Hubby: "Now or tomorrow?"
Hubby: "Upmarket or ... "
Me: "Mmm ... I need to buy flank steak, capers, provolone cheese, jarred roasted red capsicum and ... "
Hubby: "Upmarket. Definitely upmarket. Why don't you swing by Great World City or Devonshire before picking her up?" Refering to our little princess.
Me: "You mean I can?"
And that was what I did the next day. It felt weird to say the least. Usually this is done with Hubby as the driver/porter/walking credit card. Weird.
When I was tying up the flank steak, I asked myself if the whole experience was empowering. Before I could come up with an answer, I realised that another item had been added to my List of Responsibilties - Grocery Shopping. Sneaky fellow.
So when we eventually sat down to dinner, I gave him all the jagged and uneven top and bottom of the rolled steak. It wasn't a pretty but delicious nonetheless.
If you love Elton John as much as I do, here's something familiar...
"But this train don't stop.
This train don't stop.
This train don't stop there anymore."