Bomb I consider myself a pretty good cook…better than pretty good in fact. Sure, I’m no professional…but I’d gone a looong time without a meal totally crashing and burning.

Last night’s dinner summed up in a word: Bomb.

I got home late, found myself missing some ingredients for my intended creations. Culinary arrogance drove me on…I could make it work. I could create a masterpiece from mere scraps. Gold from sawdust.

The Gods of the Gullet have shamed and humbled me.

I won’t even discuss the "menu" or what exactly happened. It was that horrific and unpleasant.

Nena said she still liked it…maybe she was being nice or maybe she just saw how peeved I was. Or maybe she really did like it…and I’m way too hard on myself.

Did I mention that the wine I tried to pair with this ugliness didn’t go either? Great wine…but the foul taste of the food overpowered all the nuances…a wine dead before it’s time!

We ate pizza…which didn’t go with the wine either.