A New Partnership

After three and a half years of cooking and living together in tiny apartments, Rob and I made our first meal in our first house this evening. Nothing fancy or difficult, a box of Trader Joe’s spanikopita and a salad of green leaf lettuce that I picked up after work and a couple of lonely carrots that made the move with us from the apartment. Typical weeknight dinner that is normally a cinch.

This is what we had to cook in:

This was my thought process:

1) New gas oven smell freaking me out. Is this going to kill us in our sleep? Poison our food?

2) We need to take out the spanikopita. Where are potholders? Shit.

3) Alright, where are towels? Shit.

4) Is your sleeve long enough to take the food out of the oven?

5) Where is knife?

6) Do we know where cutting board is?

7) Plates must be cleaned from being wrapped in newsprint so we can eat off them. We have dish soap and sponges. I think. I don’t know where they are. Maybe we did run out after we cleaned the apartment. Not helpful at current moment.

8) Maybe if we just rinse off the plates, they should be okay.

9) Can’t eat off dripping plates. Do we have another towel that does not have a burning hot tray resting on it?

10) Where are we going to eat? Table and chairs in garage because tile still not finished. No longer hungry. This house thing is going to be harder than I thought.