Betrayed by George Forman.

Normally I cook well enough- but when RXM is washing the cooked steak like a raccoon, it's time to apologize for my cooking.

Turn out the lights in the living room, grab the flashlight, put on the wool hat..."I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. It's all my fault."

To be fair, this is the first time a recipe in George Forman's cookbook has failed me; I should have known something was wrong when it called for two tablespoons of ground pepper per pound. The result is RXM eating excruciatingly slowly to spare her stomach the pepper overdose, while I whinge about poisoning her.

"It's OK" she says, "it really wasn't your fault. you were following the recipe like a good soldier...."
She stops at my stare.
"I think you really shouldn't follow that metaphor any further." say I.
She grins wickedly "You vere chust followingk orders!"

Reassured (somewhat), I place the remains of the pepper steaks in secure containers for safe disposal. In fajitas, say.