I used to cook a lot.

Not a lot of different dishes, but often. Mostly, variations on stir-fry. The wok was my friend.

I rarely used recipes, and the results ranged from perfect to inedible.

For years now, steakums has completely taken over the reins of cooking. Largely because she used to get home well before I did (upwards of an hour to two hours) and got hungry. In my bachelor days, I would often just skip dinner, or not start thinking about it until 8 or 9pm.

So, only very rarely do I take up the wok again. Less than once a year. And every time has been an abysmal failure, lack of practice does not make perfect.

But our schedules have realigned in recent months such that my commute is much shorter, and I leave earlier, and all those sorts of things, and thusly I arrive home right around the same time steakums does, or at least not before she’s started cooking. So, last night I made a stir-fry again. And it went pretty well.

I only bring all this up because my hands smell severely of garlic. This is only a complaint insofar as every time I scratch my nose, I get hungry.