What a weekend.
I'd call it one big fail but I enjoyed it too much.
Honey Jr and Honey's Honey came over for dinner Friday night and I totally flubbed it. I was cooking this delicious (downright scrumptious really) recipe; Pan Roasted Chicken with Lemon Garlic & Herbs, and it called for shallots, but I didn't have shallots. No biggie, I'd just use a little onion and garlic instead, but this time, the regular old onion was too strong for the ginger... eeew... my delicious pan roasted chicken with lemon garlic & herbs ended up tasting like bitter chicken with lemon and bitterness.
(And here's a question... why do I choke when it comes to cooking for other people? Especially when cooking for French people. Because you just know they think that I can't cook because I'm an American, not that I can't cook because I flubbed the whole shallot thing. Either way, fail).
And then Saturday was supposed to be Princess Day. You see, sometimes The Husband will make these grand declarations like; "Skippie, this weekend you are a princess and I want you to rest and I will do everything." A beautiful idea in theory, but a total disaster in reality. Kind of like communism. It never really goes off like that... he runs around doing things for me, which is fantastic, but 1. I have to get up and show him where things are and how to do things, and then 2. he creates a glorious mess that I get to clean up. Did you know The Husband can make a mess while cleaning? Well he can.
Part of my Princess Day was The Husband making Chicken Fried Steak for dinner (Chicken Fried Steak makes my heart sing a little... ♫ the stars at night are big and bright ♫... ). Fantastic. Except how come I ended up making the mashed potatoes, the cream gravy, and doing everything for the steaks except beating eggs in a bowl and mixing flour in another? Me standing in the kitchen dredging steaks in egg and flour and then frying them as I watch The Husband and Honey Jr playing rugby outside my window doesn't make me feel very princess like.
But we did get to watch Lonesome Dove on TV while we ate our chicken fried steaks. And it was in French. And let me tell you, Tommy Lee Jones in French is pretty darn weird.
You know what else is pretty darn weird... Fifty getting a package in the post, addressed to him. Why does my dog get post? Who does he think he is, Snoopy?! And on Princess Day. My dog high jacked my Princess Day.
(The package was a gift from his Texan Chihuahua girlfriends, Molly & Sissy. Fifty will be showing it off in another post coming soon...)
But you know what wasn't a fail? The French Rugby team. They may have lost, but personally, I'd rather lose like that than win like that. For me, they played like kings and they are champions.