Tuesday, 11 February 2014

melissa's morrocan chicken

I’m not sure but it must be the combination of Dave’s trainers and my new luminous hi-viz running vest, but for the second week running I shatter my personal bests on the trek home. That or the massive bowl of pasta I scarfed at lunchtime.

Any delay getting home, and particularly when I run, severely eats into the time available to relax in the evening. Obviously I’ve got to shower and sort out all the random bumpf into the correct washing piles, give Milo a hug once I’m clean, sometimes there’s some washing up to deal with and only then can you get around to cooking.

In these circumstances there is slim chance of even thinking about sitting down to eat before half nine, add in tidying up once you’ve cooked and you’ve pretty much nixed the entire evening!

However having suffered last night, the benefits of cooking 3 meals on a fasting day fully kick in this evening as tonight’s meal is the work of the moment.

Admittedly I massively ballsed up the cous cous to such an extent I had to sieve it like Celia Imrie in Bridget Jones, but even with that mild faux pas we’ve still eaten by half eight are ready to watch another episode of newfavouritescandidrama Beck by nine-ish. Until Ana decides to go to bed early half way through of course…

melissa's moroccan chicken - the black book

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