signature dish
Back when it was just her, she rarely cooked. She had the microwave for most things, and whatever couldn't be made with the microwave (crepes, cheese on toast), she went without. She ate a lot of salad, a lot of finger food, some microwave meals, the occasional takeout, the fortnightly meal out with one of her two remaining friends. But it was all simple, and all her choice - what she wanted, when she wanted it, and nobody to tell her to do the washing up afterwards.
Now a hot meal was expected every night and it made her crazy. Again, she was happy with simple things (even if they had to be, according to someone, cooked), but he liked variety and strong flavours, and after a while she ran out of recipes, ran out of ideas, and served a couple of disasters in the course of desperate experimentation. There was also the matter of things she liked that he didn't, and things he liked that reminded her of her father and which therefore she didn't want to be in the same room with much less cook (and never mind eat). Cooking two separate meals was out of the question (not enough space, or time, or patience), so some nights she didn't eat, and it was easier to feign unwellness than to risk having him feel guilty because she didn't like, for example, asparagus soup.
Depending on her mood, sometimes when he asked what to expect for dinner and she really didn't know what she was going to make this time (or couldn't remember what was in the fridge, or perhaps what was in the cupboard that might go with what was in the fridge) she'd say it was A Mystery. Somehow this became a game, and they would take turns with outlandish suggestions. Mystery Aardvark? No? Well, how about Mystery Pickled Cactus with Mystery Hedgehog Sauce on the side? And so on.
It made the whole business a little more bearable.