Dinner was served
about two hours later than I’d intended, but it was nevertheless served. I made my own croutons but burned about half of them, and the ones I didn’t burn were fine but really just tasted like garlic bread. But not burnt garlic bread. :)
Saffron garlic rice was really really good, but not as good as the first time I made it. I could’ve used a little more white pepper, I think, and a little more something else too? Not sure what.
I think also it was ready too soon, the chickpea dish took longer than I thought but it was fab. He said there’s a Nigerian dish that he likes that is very similar. The texture of the sauce was pretty perfect, base was fire-roasted tomatoes (canned, I’m not that fancy) and roasted red peppers (I did roast those, I’m a little fancy), puréed, and some ground almonds were thrown in as well. And other stuff. And I have a ton left. 👍👍
Eb and I are opposites in the kitchen, and I giggled at this much of the night. And teased him, and maybe rolled my eyes a little. He measures everything perfectly and exactly and it takes for fucking ever. I’m a tornado of splatters and towels thrown, and spoons resting where they will only be knocked over. In his kitchen, he has a white towel for clean things and a black towel for dirty (Oh Jesus and you should see his bathroom. Everything is laid out perfectly in the same place, equidistant and at ninety degree angles). I argued for intuitive cooking, he argued that that only works if you have been doing it properly for so long. I saw his point, but said I like to take my chances.
He is a “clean as you go,” person, though, which was handy and helpful, and though I try at this, it often distracts me to the point of burning or omitting something, so I was happy to let him take the lead on that.
He did the thing that ex did in the kitchen that would always drive me crazy, and he caught my side eye and asked and we giggled about that too.
Here is the thing: I had a task and he had a task, I turn away from task to do something like wet a sponge to continue task, and I turn around and he’s tasking my task. This drives me crazy because: 1. Let me finish please and 2. Now his task is left undone.
He was zero percent defensive when I explained, and we had a cute little moment after.
The wine he brought over was perfect, and I’m glad I gave him that task, since he doesn’t drink or know much about wine. I don’t either, but those both mean different things to either of us.
When I say I don’t know much about wine, it means I have no vocabulary for it, but if it’s wet and unless it’s hideously funky, I will drink the hell out of it.
His means something more like that he doesn’t drink it often and has read less than three books on the subject, but can still find a delicious and inexpensive bottle that works very well with what I’m cooking, even I refuse to tell him what that is. I told him I was cooking monkey brains.
We did talk a little about Get Out, but not much. Most of what he had to say about it was that it wasn’t really a horror film, and that he wasn’t scared, and actually I thought that was a decent criticism and appreciated it because he made some good points about it and there was room for debate. He then went on to say that horror films don’t really scare him much, and that, I believe, is total bullshit. So we’re going to watch The Descent together sometime, and I’m gonna watch that boy jump to his feet on the couch and hide behind my back.
Last night was the first time he’s spent considerable time at my place, and there’s something familiar about having him in my space and me being in his space too. I don’t mean that it’s so super-cozy and “oooh just right” feeling or anything like that. It’s more the level of being at my bestie’s place and vice versa. Like we know how to operate in each other’s spaces and can easily but respectfully poke around a bit with no threat. Something about shared interests, I think. And like there’s no pretense? I like that.
I also like when he does something messy and leaves a thing undone from time to time, like leave a wet towel on the bed. Maybe we just have different styles of perfectionism. He’s an outie and I’m an innie. Or vice versa.
He did another thing that I’m curious about, but I exhaust myself looking into guys’ motives sometimes, and realize it doesn’t necessarily mean anything.
He left the condoms at my house, in my room, on purpose. He packed up all of his other things after he showered but purposefully left remaining condoms on my bedside table.
I’m gonna analyze anyway. :) He knows I’m not sleeping with anyone else, so I don’t think it would be for the benefit of anyone else seeing. Another guy, I mean. And he’s not weird about me being over at his place, sex isn’t only happening at my place and he’s the one with the penis so why not take them along?
To let me know that he wouldn’t be using them with anyone else? Nah.
I think he wants me to see them and think about sleeping with him.