(Yes, I debated the taste-level of the title…but it was too perfect to resist.)
I am trying to be a better cook. That’s what this whole blog is about, obviously.
I work really hard finding and trying out new things, so that Hubby can have a break from cooking every once in a while.
And I thought my husband supported that.
But today… today he showed his true colors.
He called me from work to tell me he’s on his way home, exhausted from working two hours later than normal, and planning on mowing the lawn before he gets in the kitchen to cook. He asks me what I’d like (as we forgot to plan our menu for the week). I tell him that I’ll check out what we have in the house and get back to him.
As I look through the fridge, I realize we have stuff to make a dish that a friend of mine suggested. It’s something we’ve never had before, so I look up the recipe. It seems pretty easy, so I call Hubby back to tell him about it and that I’d be more than willing to fix it for dinner so he won’t have to.
First off, he said the recipe sounded like a great idea. Then he hemmed and hawed about the idea of me cooking it. Since we didn’t have exactly the correct ingredients, he probably should just make it. (He, being the expert genius of the kitchen, of course. Me, lowly newby to the kitchen experience, couldn’t possibly figure out a way to substitute fresh tomatoes for canned diced ones. Whatever.)
Anyways, he got home, mowed the lawn (while I generously used my knife to slice some peppers for him, nice woman that I am — it really wasn’t because I needed to get away from the whining children for two seconds), and started making the dish.
And, of course, it turned out fantastic. He was so proud and then had the balls to say that he had developed a new favorite dish for us to eat. He, him, himself.
Well, now I know. He needs the credit. He needs the success. He needs to be the one to discover this stuff.
It’s his thing, cooking.
I can borrow it once a week, but really it’s his.
Good to know.