Operation Dinner In

During one of his many phone calls to me yesterday (sometimes Tony gets in a goofy mood and will call/text me several times in a day, just to share random little stuff with me), Tony announced he was going to make dinner. Naturally, I didn't argue. So we agreed that I would pick up Ari from the babysitter's on my way home.

(Speaking of the babysitter, quick side note... she texted me yesterday to tell me how impressed she was with how many animals Ari can recognize and name, especially at her age. OK, bragging-mommy moment over...)

When I got home, the apartment smelled wonderful and Tony had just pulled the dish out of the oven.

"So what is it?" I asked, sliding into the kitchen for a closer look.

"I'm not telling," he replied, with a mischevious grin. But then he admitted he hadn't followed a recipe at all. So not only did he volunteer to make dinner without any hinting from me, he also made it from scratch? I could not have loved him more at that moment.

We dug in, and oh my gosh, people--it was amazing. It was a chicken casserole--several large pieces of chicken surrounded by pasta in a cheesy sauce, with diced tomatoes and chili peppers, and topped with bread crumbs. The chicken was perfectly cooked (tender, moist, not at all overdone), the pasta was delicious, and the flavor was incredible. He steamed some vegetables as a side dish to complete the meal. I raved about it, trying my best to assure him that I was not complimenting him just to be nice--it really was that good.

As I wolfed it down, I told him, "You know, you really didn't think this through."

"Huh?"

"Well, if it had come out badly, you would have been off the hook--I probably would have never wanted you to cook again. But since it came out so great, I think I might have to make you the official cook in the house now."

Of course, I was kidding. Maybe.