Last One Home is a Rotten Egg

I raced my husband home this evening.  Instead of picking me up as per usual I grabbed a cab and sent him a text on the way.  Little did I know, he had recently left his office and, as he informed me, was going to beat me home. Thinking I was being clever I messaged him, "Loser has to make dinner."

Of course, I was expecting to be home last and I was already thinking about the fresh basil focaccia bread I was going to bake and deciding how to cook the lamb sausage and roasted peppers (the debate between pan-friend and oven-baked was pretty intense).  But, to my surprise, I won.

Then, despite my plans to cook dinner anyway, I was caught up playing phone tag with Qatar Airways trying to get one of my bosses on a plane in enough to to get to Dubai for dinner.  To make a long story short, I came downstairs from my game of tag and the kitchen smelled amazing.  Lo and behold, my incredibly handsome husband was cooking.

What was for dinner you ask?  A Halloumi Grilled Cheese Sandwich on Wheat Toast with Roasted Yellow Peppers, fresh slices of tomato and basil.

It was perfect, and even though I was looking forward to an evening in the office... a little bit of a break was wonderful.