Richard Branson’s spaghetti bolognese, the fairy liquid bottle and lock-down

Not every article on LinkedIn has to be about business, does it? I hope not…

When it comes to the evening meal my wife, Gail and I have an agreement. When I do the cooking, she’ll fill the dish washer and clean up afterwards and vice versa. It’s an understanding that has stood us in good stead over the years and especially so in lock-down when food and cooking has become some-what of an obsession

I have a recipe for spaghetti bolognese. It’s torn from an old 2013 Waitrose magazine and it’s Richard Branson’s very own! It’s a great recipe and one of my “go to” dishes for family get-togethers (not happening at the moment) and when having friends over (also not happening). It draws many complimentary remarks and when pushed on the recipe I give some credit to Richard.

Over the bank holiday weekend I decided to cook Richard’s spag bol. I was busy in the kitchen Gail was up stairs and everything was under control; bolognaise sauce simmering away on the stove reducing nicely, pot of boiling salted water ready to cook the spaghetti al-dente, table laid, parmesan cheese with grater ready and waiting, bottle of red wine open and breathing (does this really do anything?)

Then I thought “I’ll clean up for Gail, she’ll be well chuffed. All she’ll have to do is pop a couple of items in the dish washer and Bob’s your uncle. She’ll be able to kick-back and relax for the evening. What a thoroughly modern, considerate bloke I am, she’ll count her lucky stars the day she met me!” I thought.

I was looking forward to her acknowledgement, her appreciation, her approval. I heard her coming down the stairs. She entered the kitchen. She looked around. I was waiting. She smelt the aromas. I was waiting, another look around. I’m still waiting. She’s still looking. I held my breath, here it comes……”you know, Andy that is one thing that really gets on my nerves! You never put the washing up liquid away when you’ve used it”

I have forgiven her, although the bitter memory lingers