Ben picked sausage, potatoes, canned pumpkin, pickle juice and rhubarb.
His dish artfully arranged, tasted gourmet. Mine, mushy and oversalted.
“You win Ben! Though mine tasted alot better than usual.”
“Really?” He tried another forkful and frowned.
“Yep.”
I raised my glass, “To you. The cook of the family.”
He didn’t know it yet. He’d won the battle. But I’d won the war.