I Don't Like my own Cooking

I have eaten out every night since Anna traveled east, a fact I'm not proud of. It's been hot here, I tell myself, but I've not really been that convincing, seeing as it's actually been under 100 degrees since my wife left. Our apartment has no breezes, of course, so it's certainly a legitimate excuse. And all I cook are large meals, like dinner for three when there's only one eating. I've run out of single-serving meals in a box, which is how I limit my calorie intake at home. The truth is this: I've never found feeding myself worth the effort of cooking a large meal.

When Anna was in New York for three months last year, I developed a series of dishes that involved frying sausage in oil and dumping it in a variety of things. My most common choice was Macaroni and Cheese, though there was also rice and egg noodles. What's not to like. After eight months of hard dieting and I can't seem to bring myself to make that again, although it was delicious. So instead I've been buying food, which is more expensive and just as bad (probably worse) for my health.

I do make decent eggs and a mean fake-bacon Carbonera and will occasionally, but only when Anna's around.