Well folks, my loving Sunshine is off on an adventure without me, and let me tell you—I already miss her something fierce. I dropped her off yesterday, and somehow it already feels like she’s been gone for approximately seven years. Time moves differently when your better half isn’t around.
Now, before my Sunshine ever goes gallivanting off into the world, she worries—deeply—that I will somehow starve to death in her absence. And honestly? She’s not wrong to be concerned. So her pre‑flight checklist included making sure the house was fully stocked with foods that fall squarely within my very limited culinary skill set.
Eggs.\ Bread.\ Brown‑and‑serve sausages.\ Lunch meat.
She knows me well.
This is the woman who understands that my cooking philosophy can be summarized as: Bread, mustard, meat, cheese. I love my wife dearly, and not just because she looks out for me—but because she accepts me exactly as I am, spatula skills and all.
The Rice Cooker Chronicles
With Sunshine gone, it was time for me to step up. My time was well spent. First challenge: rice.
You see, she normally operates the rice cooker—this modern marvel of culinary technology. I had to do some research. According to the internet, the proper way to measure water for rice involves using your knuckle as a precision instrument. I stared at my hand for a while, realized this method was far beyond my comprehension, and bravely decided to read the instructions instead.
No fear.
One cup of rice. One cup of water. Push the button. Walk away.
Reader, the rice turned out perfect.
With that victory under my belt, I reheated some Chicken Afritada on the stove, paired it with my expertly prepared rice, and—BOOM—instant dinner. Michelin‑star chefs everywhere trembled. Thank you, Sunshine.
Breakfast of Champions (a.k.a. I Can Handle This)
The provisioning list for Casa de Tronster also included brown‑and‑serve sausages, hash browns, and eggs—territory well within my chef capabilities. This is my comfort zone.
Each morning, I rise and prepare a couple of eggs, sausages, and hash browns like a man who knows exactly what he’s doing (even if he doesn’t). A few minutes in the air fryer, a little time on the skillet, and breakfast is served.
And I’ve got to tell you—the homemade version is way better than the drive‑through. No crowns. No clowns. No awkward speaker conversations. Just good food and quiet victory.