Discipline!

Don't all get too excited, now. This post isn't going to be about "that." Well, not entirely.

When I took my first tentative steps into official blogdom, picking up my pen after a seeming eternity of wilderness years, I did so with several certainties. The first of these was that Master would be eating well. Whether or not I was successful in maintaining this anecdotal log as a sideline, Master would enjoy a succession of wholesome, tasty meals, prepared with utmost respect for the dietary preferences and time-and-budget restrictions upon which He and I had agreed. I am happy to report that this has been the case. While Master's Chef may have idled, Master and his humble chef have eaten well. As I adjust to the demands and delights of my growing relationship with Master, many stories may have fallen by the wayside. So I have not yet shared my ice-and-sleet beleaguered misadventures in search of dried cranberries on Christmas Day, or related the woes of the gluey wheat soba noodles that torpedoed the better intentions of my New Year's shrimp stir fry. Nor have I shared the triumphs - the turkey goulash, the chimichurri pork, the sherry-laced mushroom barley soup, my very first apple pie - that have thus far fortunately outnumbered the disappointments. In many instances, the eminently blogworthy sagas related to the preparation of each have been erased in part, if not entirely, by the swift and windblown passage of Winter time. I have also been away from home, and therefore separated from the comforts of my keyboard, for nights on end, as Master's companionship has mercifully supplanted the wee, empty hours in which I'd normally type, engaged only by the indifferent gaze of the computer screen.

The second certainly was that discipline would be a critical factor in the success of my related endeavors as Master's Chef. I sought out Master for the same reason that I have never been able to respect an editorial deadline, to keep a diary or, for that matter, to be an effective blogger. Heh. I hoped that having someone to serve, with the understood expectation of real and serious repercussions for any job done less than well, would provide the incentives, structure, consequences, and the other stabilizing elements that I lack, particularly when I have been out of work for such a long time. But Master has been too kind to punish the few mishaps - a flubbed apple crisp comes to mind - with more than a hearty paddling, already an integral (and consensual) component of our private regimen. And I have often been too distracted by the many pleasures of our budding relationship to block out the required time in which to chronicle my kitchen activities. For this I feel I owe my few but loyal and supportive readers an apology. As the season for resolutions is upon us, and as routine reclaims both Master's life and my own, I promise to be more diligent in updating Master's Chef.

And, if I ever do fail you again, you are fully within your right to chasten me with a sharp-tongued comment or two. Really. Let me have it. I am here only to serve you all.