Friday night, we ordered in. Saturday we skipped the farmers’ market, grabbed a bite at Farmstead, and spent a semi-relaxing day at home with the cats. Mike roasted a chicken, and I burned the Brussels sprouts.
Sunday morning, I broke not one but two yolks while attempting to make eggs for our breakfast. I burned the toast. I made a quart of beef stock, three quarts of chicken stock, and a batch of fresh pasta (none of which I ruined, thankfully), then I stood at the stove with a Blood and Sand in hand, frying batch after batch of hand-cut frites to go with our Valentine’s steak au poivre (which I neglected to take a photo of).
I also made this soup. It was one of the weekend’s more successful endeavors.
I’m home due to the holiday, Mike’s up at Cook & Brown, and I had really hoped to tackle at least one big cooking project while putting together some training materials for work today, but my heart’s just not in it. Maybe it’s the winter doldrums settling in, or the fact that I tend to freeze up in the face of change and uncertainty (which we’ve got plenty of these days), but I’m feeling overwhelmed and uninspired. I’m not sure how to get my kitchen mojo back.