Kitchen Nightmare

I have learnt today that I am not a good back-seat cook.

Carole made tea today because, as she puts it, I have taken over slightly when it comes to the cooking. My dad did a similar thing with my mum when he was made redundant, so apparently it runs in the family. But I’m also aware that it bugged the crap out of my mum as she felt that he considered her less than capable.

So I can’t do that with Carole.

Basically, she had to shut me out of the kitchen this afternoon. I was banished to the front room and not allowed to open the kitchen door unless a small black and white cat wanted access to her food or the cat flap.

And, it was absolutely killing me. It was terrible.

Apart from a consult on the colour of some garlic and the age of a Bovril cube I was banished. I wasn’t allowed to pass any comments, judgements, criticisms of knife useage or anything else for that matter. No hints, tips or other helpful nuggets. Nothing.

And I couldn’t manage it.

Carole reveled in the fact that it was killing me to not be involved in the process. Especially as it contained something I’d never done before and so was extremely jealous to not be able to do that.

I can only imagine how much of a pain I must be when I’m in the kitchen, but out of it I’m some sort of crazed animal. Hovering around. Watching. Like Gregg Wallace, but without the need to bang a spoon into my mouth and shout “lovely!”