Last night I decided to make one of V’s favorite dishes. He loves sole meunière and has enjoyed it when I made it for him before. It came out really well, too:
(The burned asparagus is another story. I just figured out, though, that I’m pretty sure I’ve been using my oven on the convection setting and not conventional – hopefully my food prepared in the oven will turn out better now that I’ve realized my mistake.)
Dinner did not start out looking anything like that, though.
I opened up the bag of sole that V had procured from the fish counter when I sent him off to get it while I was shopping for vegetables. Divide and conquer, right? So I go to open the bag, and this is what I find:
What. The. Actual. Fuck.
There are two fish in there! Hearing my distress, V came over and peered into the bag. “Oh, I was wondering if I should have asked her to filet the fish.” Ummm… yeah. V knows that I can’t handle a whole fish. He has literally had to take the fish meat off the bone for me, in a restaurant. (This is not a point of pride for me, but it’s a known fact.) He’s had my sole meunière before and knows that it is not made from a whole fish.
Luckily, although V is apparently not the greatest supermarket shopper, he is fairly handy with a knife. I’m sure it took him a little longer than the fishmonger, but he managed to filet the fish perfectly.
Also, despite getting the fish order wrong, V surprised me with some escargot which he served with his own homemade mayonnaise. So, on balance, he did great.