French Husband is downstairs cooking something. I hear the wire whisk against the bowl. French Husband doesn't cook.
He doesn't even like to peel a clementine.
In all fairness he does make pasta al dente.
But peeling and cooking are not his thing.
(Photo of my cousin's plate at a restaurant in Arles. I got a kick out of the French Fries in a coffee cup.)
The sounds down in the kitchen are distracting me happily. What is he doing? I know he is making me a cup of tea: The tea kettle whistle gave that away. But other than utensils banging, the wire whisk swirling, and the tea kettle whistling…. no other clue is coming my way.
I am curious.
Maybe he is washing the dishes. He has an obsession about washing dishes. Nobody does dishes like French Husband…. and why would I disagree?
An example of his handi-work after the last dinner party we had.
I cannot stand it any longer. I have to know. (This is a live blog today. Happening as I type.) I call out from where I sit upstairs, "Hey Honey what are you doing? "
He replies…..
"I am making yogurt."
Never in a million years did I expect that answer.
I'll let you know the result.
Yogurt? He never stops to amaze me.
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