We went to the weekly Saturday morning farmers’ market in town and picked up a bunch of the first “local” asparagus — it was from a farm in South Western Ontario somewhere down near Lake Erie, which isn’t strictly local to where we live, but does fall within (or at least within a country mile or so… ) the 100 mile (~160 km) criteria (as in “The Hundred Mile Diet“) we’ve been trying to stick to as often as possible when shopping these days.
A lovely sauté of the local asparagus, first of the season, with the organic shiitake mushrooms. It was delicious…
Now to the oops part (yes, I know it’s hard for you to believe that I’m not perfect… ) — I was cleaning up in the kitchen (which is my usual role in the process of doing dinner, well, apart from eating it that is) afterwards and eventually got to the pot that K had blanched (or parboiled or something like that…) the asparagus in prior to adding it to the sauté. The water that the asparagus had been cooked in was still in the pot; nothing unusual about that, I thought.
So I emptied the pot down the drain before loading it into the dishwasher.
And a little while later, when K comes into the kitchen after I’m pretty much done cleaning up, she looks at the pot-less stove top and cries out “Where’s my asparagus broth?!?!?“.
She explained that she had planned on using the broth as an ingredient for other dinners later in the week. But she had forgotten to mention this to me, and I didn’t even think about asking whether she wanted to keep the cooking water before I pitched it out.
Well, I really felt bad about it — I’m sure that the broth would have been put to good use in livening up the taste of another dish.
You can be sure, though, that from now on, I’ll be asking before I dispose of just about anything when I’m cleaning up in the kitchen.
And that’s why I’ve concluded that women are from Venus and men are from Duh…