So this evening I decided to cook a meal for Girlpants. Japanese chicken with peppers, teriyaki salmon, dim sum & Sim special fried rice, number 35.

Only it didn't work out that way.

The chicken itself was tasty as the recipe had been followed through to the letter. The dim sum was a Sainsbury's special and the salmon was steamed to perfection. However, the Sim special rice, number 35 was fubared beyond recognition.

How on earth do you mange to puree rice? I would have never believed it possible, but hey ho - there was a pile of big white chilli mush with prawns and peas. Baby food with big giant taste the difference prawns. Food made with the raw ingredients with my own two incy wincy hands. Big big disaster.

I haven't had a disaster like this since I first tried to fry steak. I say fry. I mean defrost. I say steak. I mean the cheap type of Dale pack steaks that were ready frozen and I had bought in the mistaken belief that I could impress my now ex-wanker bastard boyfriend from hell with a full on steak chips and peas scenario. You see, the problem I have with ready made food is that I can't cook it. Girlpants loves this fact as it means that the roast beef in the house moo's when it comes out of the oven. But it means that any ready made meal that comes out of the kitchen is either smoking, black or if applied, has the ability to kill off any taste buds.

On that night however, I learnt that Dalepack steaks look nothing like the real thing. I learnt that they are shaped in an odd kidney like fashion from regurgitated leftovers from the mince in the aisles. And that they explode into a sodden brown pool when you attempt to defrost them in a microwave. All over the long dress that I stuffed my bumps and bulges into, whilst unwillingly parting with my beloved jeans for the evening. And then came the one sentance that any women would be legally allowed to beat a man into a pulverised mash...

EWBBFH - Never mind luv - I'll send you out for chips.

Deflated? Punched more like. I had taken my measly student allowance and bought what I had believed in my "never really cooked before" life was a fantastic meal. Only to have it explode into shrapnel. All over me. And today, that feeling came back as number 35 slobbered from spoon onto plate.

And yet Girlpants ate every slimy spoonful. Despite his absurd hatred of rice pudding.

Now that's love.