I am currently eating the best lunch ever, in the entire worldwide history of lunches.
It is the leftover bits from last night's dinner: beef bourguignon. Julia Child's beef bourguignon. I cooked it all myself and it has sauteed mushrooms and it has braised pearl onions and it has carrots and wine and all manner of incredibly tasty little beefy bits. That I made. Me.
The other people over for dinner all said it was really good. At the time, of course, I had to mumble something about, "Oh, thanks, I try, it's not bad, mumble humble mumble." In the privacy of my own diary, however, (despite the fact that several of them will be reading this anyway, but at least I am not saying it out loud in person,) I can admit that I think this is one of the best things I have ever ever cooked. At moments like this I think I can cook anything in the whole world and that the world is, in fact, just waiting breathlessly for me to open a restaurant so they can all come and feast at my table. I will be King of Culinarytown, and I shall rule over my adoring subjects with a wise, just hand, dispensing delectable tidbits of food to the masses.
It sure is fun to be egocentric sometimes. And oh, so easy.