Dinner Crime

Ah, those were the days. Dinnertime was so much simpler - and more enjoyable.

I'm exhausted! Work - as in work-work - is not responsible, although it has been another busy one, to say the least. No, it's the daily "what shall we have for dinner?" game which has left me feeling like I've just starred in a performance of Python's cheese shop sketch.
I am invariably the cook round at The Towers and tonight was no different. The trouble is, I am far too obliging when it comes to trying to dish up something appealing to my soon-to-be ex-wife's delicate palate. Couple this with the somewhat, shall we just say, "unusual" workings of a woman's brain and the only recipe you end up with is one for disaster.
This evening's attempt to decide on what to slap in the Parkinson Cowan Mini-Crem 9000 prompted the following exchange:

Pither: "So, dearest soon-to-be ex-spitting cobra of my life, what would you like for dinner tonight?"
STB EW: "I don't know. You choose."
Pither: "Whoa, no!! Not that carousel again! YOU choose - we've got quite a bit in."
STB EW: "Like what?"
Pither: "Well, we've got a couple of nice sirloin steaks?"
STB EW: "I don't like steak."
Pither: "Since when!!!"
STB EW: "The way they kill cows is inhumane."
Pither: "You want a live one? It would never stay still long enough to get a fork in it."
STB EW: "Have we got any tuna?"
Pither: "Alive or dead? We really are full up, pets-wise."
STB EW: "Don't be silly."
Pither: "Does it matter if it was asphyxiated and then clubbed over the head by some sadistic Indian fisherman?"
STB EW: "Have we got any?"
Pither: "Alas, no. We have, however, got cod or trout."
STB EW: "I want tuna."
Pither: "We've covered this, and the major drawback involved. How about pasta?"
STB EW: "We had pasta last night."
Pither: "Italians have it most nights."
STB EW: "I want something different."
Pither: "Like what!?! DON'T, whatever you do, say tuna."
STB EW: "Could you do a cottage pie?"
Pither: "Yup. We've got mince and all the rest."
STB EW: "Nah. It would take too long. How about just an omelette? I love omelettes."
Pither: "Adventurous, complicated and exotic. If only you'd told me in the first place. Ok."
STB EW: "Second thoughts, I had an omelette for lunch. Oh, I don't know, you choose."
Pither: "Aaaargh!! How about a raw, dead cow, stuffed with cod and trout, wrapped in a cheese omelette and served on a bed of pasta?"
STB EW: "I know! How about that thing we had on my birthday?"
Pither: "Four bottles of wine and an argument?"
STB EW: "No, that chicken saag thing."
Pither: "A curry, you mean? I'm not good at curries, and besides the chicken is frozen, but we could order one?"
STB EW: "Nah. We can't afford it - and anyway, they're fattening and no good for your colon."
Pither: "Let's leave Colin out of this. Look, if you don't make up your ruddy mind soon it's going to be breakfast time and we'll have this nightmare all over again, only with eggs being the central theme."
STB EW: "Oh, I don't know. You decide."
Pither: "Ok. What have we got?"
STB EW: "I don't know. I fancy tuna."

This complete and utter waste of our existences only came to a halt when Mrs P spied French onion soup I had made on Tuesday and decided that was all she wanted.
So, soup it was - not exactly a meal to get Marco Pierre White tearing up all his menus and questioning the validity of his life, but it staved off the desire to gnaw at the skirting board.
The tedium of this dilemma is that it rears its head every single night so, to keep me sane and nourished, gastronomic indecision can go to Grantham.