A bad date

Three weeks. That’s how long I had been looking forward to it, Three whole weeks. From the moment I knew he was willing to travel to meet me in my home town and go out for dinner I knew.

For newer readers (I like to think there are some of you) I am a massive foodie. I love cooking new things and I adore eating out. However, with the new house, a tight budget, friends all saving like crazy and no ‘other half’ to treat me I can count on one hand the number of times I have been out to eat over the last 12 months. In fact, I am not fully convinced that my willingness to attempt online dating wasn’t fueled by the idea of lots of lovely restaurants, and meals out hopefully with him picking up the bill (after all I hope chivalry isn’t dead!)

I hadn’t been to this particular restaurant for a while. I had popped in for drinks to the bar bit, but not ventured into the restaurant.

I had decided within minutes what I wanted to order “prawn and chorizo salad for starters, confit belly pork with leeks and mash and a cider jus for main with a delicious looking chocolate orange pudding for desert”.

I asked him if we were doing starters. He said he would prefer to just do mains. Gutted I said goodbye to the prawns and chorizo (two of my favourite things). The waitress came and we placed our order.

5 minutes later the waitress returned to apologies. They had run out of his order and asked if he would like to see the menu again. He refused and said he just wouldn’t eat anything.

8 minutes later they came back to see if he had changed his mind. He hadn’t. They asked me what I wanted to do and I told them “It’s fine just cancel it all”.

I should have thought sod him and just ordered. But I worried too much what he would think, how it would look…and I think a little bit of me was in shock, who comes out for a ‘first’ dinner date comments he’s had nothing since breakfast and then doesn’t eat?!!

20 minutes in and the conversation had dried up. I looked around for help but the serving staff were giving us a wide burst. Understandable really after all who comes into a restaurant and then refuses to order food?!

30 minutes in and the only thing keeping me there was the notion that the date should at the very least last longer than his journey to come and meet me.

An hour in and I was wishing his pint away (seriously, an hour to drink one pint). I had supped my drink well over 40 minutes ago, and as the waitress was giving me a wide birth, I was amusing myself crunching on ice.

An hour and 10 minutes in I was starving. I had decided the guy was a definite no go and had decided ‘sod it’ I will just order food. Then it dawned on me the kitchen was closed.

An hour 15 minutes in he started mentioning how hungry he was, and how much he was looking forward to getting a takeaway when he got home. (It is here that I deserve an award for not telling him exactly what I thought about him!)

An hour and 30 minutes in, having spent the last 15 minutes tell me how hungry he was, he sighed and I told him if he was tired I was happy to end the date and let him get off. You have never seen me put my coat on so fast.

I let him walk me to the car, thanked him for making the effort to come and meet me and hightailed it to the nearest Chinese.


That’s not what I ordered!

I am upset. In fact I am slightly more upset than I should be in this situation, I am a little worried about what this says about my life at the moment.

Last night I stayed at a friends house, and as she didn’t over-cater I had nothing for lunch today. I thought about having a cup a soup or something, but then there is a really nice sandwich shop a short walk from the office.

I considered having a tuna sandwich…

But then I thought if I am going to be naughty why not go the whole hog, treat myself…

So I ordered a sausage and egg sandwich, with extra tomato ketchup.

I was excited. I couldn’t wait to unwrap my sandwich. I had been looking forward to this sandwich for a good few hours.

I took my first bite…

There was sausage…

There was extra tomato ketchup…

The egg was missing.

The egg had been replaced with some horrible salty bacon.

Gutted was an understatement. I only very rarely treat myself to a sandwich; I can’t justify the cost, I can’t justify the calories.

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My oven hates me – but it’s fine, it’s mutual!!

Believe it or not I am a pretty good cook, even if I say so myself..

My dad went to catering collegue and I have so many happy memories of watching dad cook whilst I stirred (If there is a pot on the stove I have to stir it, but that’s a different story!) and I got my way through my first year of uni by cooking big elaborate teas each evening (yes I did put on a little more weight than would have liked but it kept me sane.)

However since moving into this house, with this oven I have burnt more dinners in the last 6 months (small side note woop I have been living with OH for 6 months – that has flown!) than I have in all the years I have been cooking ever!! This stupid oven seems to wait for my back to be turned and ingredients that were previously raw turn into a carbonated mass of yuck.

I give you exhibit a, the crumble for tonight. I put rubarb (I cook better than I spell – i feel there should be an h) and organge juice into a oven proof casserole dish with a sprinkling of sugar, to soften before I add the crumble (Shop bought I have to admit as we still don’t have a fully working baking cupboard – again a different story) and every few minutes I took it out to stir and panic that the ingredients would still be raw when OH arrive home tonight and so I turn the oven up slightly and return in another 10 minutes and my ingredients are now black and smoking – grr!! I have stirred it all in and I chucked in some more orange juice to hide the taste, and then had to decided how to cook the top which takes half an hour. I felt I had no choice and so I chucked it on top of the brown mass and prayed. O well at least I have lots of custard!!