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Maybe I’m just more domestic. I mean he’s better at tidying and organising, better with any kind of electrics or equipment or salespeople and much better at sticking to a budget (shiny addicition aside, he can keep a weekly budget far better). But sometimes? He has nooo clue.
We have made our sojourn to the meat market (ideal because it has ACTUAL butchers with ACTUAL corpses they slice and dice, rather than plastic wrapped plastic things with extra plastic. It’s also cheap and seriously nummy). Now comes to labelling of the corpsey bits so we know which tasty bit of cadaver is which (Beloved hates how I refer to meat, I call it lack of delusion. I allow things to be killed to eat them. I see nothing wrong with that, but I do {probably on a religious/spiritual level more than a practical mundane fashion} think it’s wrong to be in utter denial about what you are eating. You have killed an animal for food - respect that and acknowledge that, don‘t pretend it‘s just differently shaped tofu, the animal deserved better than that).
I digress. Anyway, I went to answer the phone to deal with the various insanities du jour and came back to find that beloved had “helpfully” labelled all the meat (this is necessary for freezing - nothing worse than defrosting your rump steak, going to cook it and finding lamb chops). I think i am justified in adding some nice quotation marks to helpfully (runs back to do so).
Me: What’s this?
Beloved: Mince. It does say (thinking this is a snark at his handwriting
Me: Mince? Mince is what you do to meat - it isn’t meat. Minced WHAT?
Beloved: What do you mean, minced what? It’s mince!
Me: Pork mince? Lamb mince? Beef mince? Monkey mince? Little bits of everything mince?
Me: *picks up next bag* ummm steak.
Beloved: Yes :).
Me: Mystery steak. It could be beef or pork or lamb. If beef it could be rump or sirloin or fillet braising...
Beloved: Don’t be picky
Me: I’m not. When it’s frozen in a bag (and to the bag) you can’t TELL until it defrosts.
Me: chicken...
Beloved: C’mon it’s chicken!
Me: yes, yes it is. And so is this bag. And this bag. And this bag. And thiiis bag. And those bags.
Beloved: I love chicken
Me: Yup, especially in the special marinades the butcher does... so which marinade is which?
Beloved: Uhhhhh...
Me: *le sigh*
We have made our sojourn to the meat market (ideal because it has ACTUAL butchers with ACTUAL corpses they slice and dice, rather than plastic wrapped plastic things with extra plastic. It’s also cheap and seriously nummy). Now comes to labelling of the corpsey bits so we know which tasty bit of cadaver is which (Beloved hates how I refer to meat, I call it lack of delusion. I allow things to be killed to eat them. I see nothing wrong with that, but I do {probably on a religious/spiritual level more than a practical mundane fashion} think it’s wrong to be in utter denial about what you are eating. You have killed an animal for food - respect that and acknowledge that, don‘t pretend it‘s just differently shaped tofu, the animal deserved better than that).
I digress. Anyway, I went to answer the phone to deal with the various insanities du jour and came back to find that beloved had “helpfully” labelled all the meat (this is necessary for freezing - nothing worse than defrosting your rump steak, going to cook it and finding lamb chops). I think i am justified in adding some nice quotation marks to helpfully (runs back to do so).
Me: What’s this?
Beloved: Mince. It does say (thinking this is a snark at his handwriting
Me: Mince? Mince is what you do to meat - it isn’t meat. Minced WHAT?
Beloved: What do you mean, minced what? It’s mince!
Me: Pork mince? Lamb mince? Beef mince? Monkey mince? Little bits of everything mince?
Me: *picks up next bag* ummm steak.
Beloved: Yes :).
Me: Mystery steak. It could be beef or pork or lamb. If beef it could be rump or sirloin or fillet braising...
Beloved: Don’t be picky
Me: I’m not. When it’s frozen in a bag (and to the bag) you can’t TELL until it defrosts.
Me: chicken...
Beloved: C’mon it’s chicken!
Me: yes, yes it is. And so is this bag. And this bag. And this bag. And thiiis bag. And those bags.
Beloved: I love chicken
Me: Yup, especially in the special marinades the butcher does... so which marinade is which?
Beloved: Uhhhhh...
Me: *le sigh*