Taking for granted

Since our time together, I have tried not to take Hubby for granted, and most of the time, I think I’ve succeeded.
We have a brilliant relationship, knowing each other’s strengths and weaknesses, though I tend to be more of a wimpo than a stone-age Swimbo. We share the chores, shop together, and both love to cook.
His liver and bacon is still the best, though this is mine.

But have you ever thought about how much of yourself or your actions you take for granted?
I found it when my knee was hurting so bad and I was on two sticks.
Then Hubby insisted putting me in a wheelchair when we did the shopping.
I remember how frustrating it was trying to carry a basket using just one, and I almost lost it completely in the bank trying to manage a stick, open my handbag and get my purse out to use one of those damn cashpoint machines.

Hubby cooked dinner today, under instruction from me on the bench doing ‘additional exercises’ by lifting my tea mug to my mouth with my right arm (it all helps).
With restrictive movement on that side, simple things like stirring a pot, opening an eye level cupboard, slicing a pepper or operating a tin opener is awkward, if not painful.

I always put the rice on first, then switch off the heat as soon as it comes to the boil so that it absorbs the liquid by the time everything else is ready.
As I watched him prepare the meat, veg and sauce for our sweet and sour, it became apparent how I just got on and did it, without any real thought.
I never measure anything as a rule, so trying to give him a guide as to how much soy sauce, vinegar or ginger to put in the mix was even bigger guesswork.
The number of sugar sachets is easy, and I left him to decide how much garlic to add.
Vampires wouldn’t stand a chance in the boat by the way.

Maggie still had her bit of chicken, but none of the stock I usually give her, as Hubby drained that off to replace it with the pineapple juice based sauce.
The meal was tasty but he asked what I would have done differently.
That was a toughie, as I couldn’t really say, other than maybe made it a little thicker (though he used the same amount of flour as I do), a little darker (I tend to use brown sugar rather than white and perhaps more soy sauce and vinegar) with possibly more ginger and not so much garlic.

This is my sweet and sour chicken from early in October

It all comes down to personal preference I suppose, and it got me thinking about the recipes I post here. Hopefully anyone who has tried them has had success and not a bland or overpowering meal for their efforts, having tweaked them to suit their own palette.
Cooking, like clothes, is a matter of taste afterall.

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