Cooking is such a labour of love. I prepped up the marinade for murgh malai kebabs, basically creamy (malai) melt-in-your-mouth chicken (murgh) kebabs, in the morning because Adi gets back home from Worcester tonight. After a long drive there is nothing that will make him happier than a hot home-cooked meal. He has been toiling away with Indo-Chinese and Thai restaurant meals which by the way he is thoroughly loving, but we have evolved from this couple who lived to eat out to the duo who like to rustle up most meals in the kitchen. You know what’s going into your body and all that. With illnesses in the family, the importance of eating well strikes home harder.
A dull day has progressed into a duller evening so I am watching the trees in the park nod gently while sniffling away. Yes, my immunity to flu is at an all-time low. From priding myself on not contracting a cold easily, this is the second time in two weeks that I have to deal with nostrils that have been chafed thoroughly. Going for a run has been tossed out of the window for the day. Instead it is time for more Diana Gabaldon and her Dragonfly in Amber novel with enough tea to drown my cold in. The woman is a genius. How on earth she conceived of Outlander without stepping anywhere near the Highlands is something that makes me wonder. Also it makes me want to kiss her fingertips. You simply cannot put her books down. Other than writing, I have been pottering around the apartment straightening things up, munching on salad and taking photos to calm the nerves. Fiddling with ornaments at home, it seems, is not a bad thing to keep you from going stir-crazy through creating some autumnal hygge.