beefy experiment

Last night I may have committed husband abuse, though I can assure you it was unintentional. Let me explain. Lately I've been trying to become more efficient in my use of time and dishes in the kitchen, the former because we get home so late on weeknights; the latter because we don't have a dishwasher.

On Monday I made a beef and mushroom dish served over rotini pasta. It was tasty, and I had made a large pot so we would have leftovers. Rather than put the extra beef in one container and the pasta in another (as most would do), I weighed out my portion (4oz meat, 1c pasta) and stored it in one container. I stuffed all the rest in a second.

So last night, thinking about time and dish conservation, and more importantly having a desire to avoid wasting or saving a partial meal, I efficiently dumped the two containers into two bowls. Brent's had a full half-pound of beef and two cups of noodles (2x the recommended serving), I realized while serving, though I didn't mention it at the time. During dinner I gloated about getting a home-cooked meal on the table in less than 15 minutes, but as we all know, pride always leads to a fall.

Shortly after the meal (during which Brent impressed me by consuming all of it), Brent looked alarmed and began to moan about being extremely full. I told him how I may have served him more than usual in an attempt to avoid inefficiency, and he got this accusatory look on his face and said, "YOU MADE ME OVEREAT!" Laughing at the absurdity of MAKING someone eat (that only happens in movies like "Seven"), I tried to brush it off by saying a few extra pounds might not be a bad thing for him.

Well, the upshot is, I had to eat dessert solo because Brent was so stuffed, and he suffered the rest of the evening. Sorry, Brent!