Dinner is Served

She stared at her husband from across the candle lit table as he recounted to her the effort that the chef had gone through to make their meal. “First he seared the meat. Seasoning it with several spices and herbs.” He pinched his fingers together as he imitated the movements of the chef. “Then he stirred in the milk, slowly integrating it into the pan.” His hand started a stirring motion. “Once the meat and sauce were well mixed, he then took the noodles and poured them into the concoction, letting them steep and absorb the rich flavor he had already created. The smell was divine, the aroma filling the entire kitchen.” He raised his hands up and out, expressing the way the smell carried through the room. “The chef then covered the dish, allowing it to simmer and boil.” He hunched over a touch, letting his fingers mimic the boiling and contorting his face, almost looking like a witch hovering over her cauldron. “As the dish stewed, he started cleaning up the entire kitchen. Used utensils, in the sink. The measuring cups, in the sink. The finished pots and pans, in the sink.” She watched him as he mimed placing dishes into an unseen sink and smiled. “I watched as he washed them, then dried them and put them away. By the time he was done, the only unclean items were the pot our dinner was cooking in and the one spoon he used to stir it with.” His smile widened as he recounted the events. “Finally, he served it up, and then, as he was leaving through the back door, he stopped, tipped his chef hat and said ‘Bon Appetite.’ And that is the story of how I had this very special dinner made for you.” He smiled at her as he raised his fork to his mouth and then said, “Happy Anniversary.”

She smiled at him, looked down at her plate, then taking a portion of the meal in front of her on her fork, raised it to her lips as she said, “Honey, I saw the box of hamburger helper in the trash.”


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