My husband is a gem.

I made dinner again tonight. Three consecutive dinners made by me hasn't happened in awhile. So, I'm a little rusty. Or a lot rusty.
Tonight I made macaroni and cheese with the left over cheese sauce I used for Sunday dinner. I was pretty excited about my ingenuity. I decided to top my macaroni with buttery bread crumbs (this isn't a health blog) and popped it into the oven on broil. I then left the kitchen to do, who-knows-what. Several minutes later a light bulb went off in my head. Broil + >30 seconds = a blackened mass. That is a really complicated equation, so for those of you not quite at my arithmetical level, my bread crumbs had disintegrated into sad little black ashes. They were delicious bread crumbs no more. Annoyed, I scrapped off the top layer of my macaroni. The damage wasn't too bad. It was still edible.

The Hubs got home a little late so the macaroni was cold. I decided to crumble some Ritz crackers on top this time and again placed it in my oven on broil. I wasn't going to forget this time. I wasn't!

"Mommy, I need you!" yelled Boo from his bedroom in which he was supposed to be sleeping. He began coughing so hard I thought unpleasant things were going to spew from his mouth so I decided he needed some medicine. No longer was I thinking about my dejected macaroni. After the medicine he talked me into laying by him. Fine, I thought. I was tired. I mean, I burned a meal today! So I lied down, closed my eyes and right before I was whisked away into a deep dreamless slumber I was greeted by my smoke alarm. The Hubs had opened the pipping hot oven only to find a crispy casserole amidst a giant cloud of smoke.

Another crumbly topping had failed. Broil was not my friend, nor do I see a budding friendship in the near future. We simply don't get along. I scrapped another inch of chard, black macaroni and Ritz crumbles off my now disappearing casserole and placed it in a plastic bowl to be thrown away. Sitting right next to the sad remains was the thin layer of mac'n'cheese still in the casserole dish. Sobeit, a thin layer, but a rather delicious layer considering. (I had a bowl of my own to make sure.) I romantically yelled to The Hubs, "Dinner!" and again was summoned to Boo's room. My patience was wearing thin.

Awhile later I re-entered the kitchen to see The Hubs eating the rather large bowl of blackened macaroni. He'd eaten more than half of it already. "Are you kidding me right now?" I asked thinking he was being funny. Confused, he answered, "Uh...no." "Why are you eating that?" I said. "I thought you dished this up for me. (As if I usually dish up his meals.) I wasn't going to say anything...but it's not very good." With wide, slightly disgusted eyes I slowly enunciated, "That's because it's burned. You're eating macaroni ashes." And then I started laughing. I couldn't decide if my husband was really nice or really stupid. I'm going with both.

The moral of this story is that I am not worried about how my cooking tastes from this day forth. I'm pretty sure The Hubs will eat anything that's "served" to him.

We have left-overs if anyone is interested!