We made dinner last night. By candlelight. Two burners, two pans. An old favorite comfort routine brought forward by pushing everything else back. Battered emergency candles. Mismatched cutlery. Paper towels folded nicely for napkins. Chicken breasts stuffed with mushrooms, cheese and parsley and potatoes boiled in the skin, plus carrot sticks, served in a cereal bowl.
It's one of the very first romantic dinners we ever shared together in the camper when I was around eleven and one we try to find a chance to recreate a few times a year. The caveat is we no longer steal the chicken (from the grocery store) or the potatoes (from a field) and we tend to use real marbled cheddar now instead of Kraft cheese product slices. Oh, and we have parsley which never actually existed in the camper timeline. We've also added a bottle of wine more often than not (but no glasswear because we're sideshow heathens) and the elbow room required to make the meal is a little more generous than it was but the end result is the same.
Special.
Just for us.
Lochlan surprised me with roses when he came home. I already had the chicken breasts stuffed and was struggling to open the wine. The kitchen was off-limits to everyone else, the house reminded to use either the front or the patio door and not to bother us. No one did. We took the wine, left the dishes and came upstairs, where Lochlan finished the bottle and I fell asleep early in his arms. He put his head down against mine and said quietly that if he were to be honest, he would tell me he really liked the Kraft cheese better than the real cheddar in the chicken.
I am surprised. So did I. It's just...creamier somehow. Less rich.
Yeah! Exactly. And we nodded at the ceiling because we'll make it the old way from now on.
