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Stuffed Flank Steak

I am a silly sort of person.

Really.

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?"

Me: "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?"

Hubby: "..."

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.

Snapped from the cookbook

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."

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