Sauté

This castigation of Sunday-night Man was, really, my last great verbal purge towards a guy I dated.

(Give me credit for being a less vitriolic single woman than I was almost 5 months ago. Or, rate this accomplishment considering almost 5 months ago was my last real date? Word.)

Sunday-night Man had just finished culinary school when we met. He also didn't lack ego or self-regard for his talents. Not surprising then, the night I hosted him at my apartment, that he took over the stove with his improved ideas for the chicken dish I had planned. "Hijacked" is a better word for it: he went on to do the whole meal. Me, dewy-eyed and forgiving because a man was cooking my groceries.  Didn't mind his critique of how ineffectively I sauteed vegetables in olive oil, followed by a play-by-play of his own wrist technique.

(You might recall I thought he was an ass about it.)

Last night I was working together a pan of squash, mushrooms and onions to add to my store-bought spaghetti sauce, and found myself quite without thinking, effectively sauteeing in the style Sunday-night Man showed me: jerk the pan back towards you to flip the goods, not push forward. Something I rarely remember to do.

Seriously. The result was tasty and evenly browned.

Nice to know that even men who unceremoniously dump people can be good for something...