Growing up, Sunday night (as I remember it - correct me if I'm wrong, mum) was always the night that my mum resorted to a "whatever" option for dinner - baked beans and a fried egg on toast, fishfingers and hash browns from the freezer, cheese, ham and tomato toasties etc... If she'd been another kind of mum or if we'd have lived in a more takeaway-friendly time/place, it might have been "fast food night".
As a kid who regularly had arguments with my parents about how many peas I should eat ("But daaaaad, I've already eaten five of them... They're yuuucky..."), this was completely fine with me. I liked Sunday night dinners.
And I still do. With the exception of when I have someone over for dinner, I tend to get lazy on a Sunday night, opting for a no-brainer like scrambled eggs on toast (possibly with smoked salmon if I'm feeling fancy).
Tonight was no exception. Feeling my tummy start to rumble at about 7pm I weighed up the options in the fridge (water, condiments, cheese and wine), pantry (slightly better stocked but offering no complete meal solutions) and freezer (full of leftover portions from more virtuous nights). Hmmm... Twenty minutes later I was tucking into a bowl of spaghetti with the bolognese sauce I'd made a week or so ago and frozen.
In all honesty I can't say Spag Bol is a terribly sophisticated or exciting option but it was definitely yummy (even if I do say so myself) and as the novelist and essayist Christopher Morley said "No man [or woman] is lonely eating spaghetti; it requires so much attention"!
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