R,
Remember last Valentine’s, when you super sweetly put together a hand-cooked candle-light meal of mac and cheese? It was the cutest thing ever, especially since I’m well aware that you think that even ready-to-eat meals are a pain to put together. You obsessed over how the pasta was dry, and offered to put in more water, or add cheese, or… . I hope you remember that I said it was perfectly fine and I loved it.
It was perfectly fine, and I did love it, especially considering the effort you’d put into it. If you’d served me burned pasta with no cheese, it would still have been perfectly fine and I would have loved it. I realize it’s harder to feel similarly magnanimous about the daily meals I cook you – there are so many of them that you have to start taking them for granted a little, or it would be slightly absurd.
It’s great how low maintenance we both are. For the most part, you’ll eat anything, and I really only have to put together one meal in the night, since your office feeds you (and how!). There are no unreasonable demands to make things the way your mother did, or the way my mother did, and thank God for that, because they’re superlative cooks. However, here’s where our opinions diverge, never to meet again.
She thinks: So much repetition when I make dinner every day for the rest of our lives! How do I make this more exciting? What can I try making today?
He thinks: Damn foreign country, I can only get decent food at home. I hope it’s daal-chawal.
She thinks: Stuffed okra? Pumpkin curry?
He thinks: Daal-chawal. Please God, daal-chawal.
She thinks: Fine, if it’ll make him happy, daal-chawal. Again. Hmm, I wonder what would happen if I added aamchur?
He flips his lid. Consistency, woman, where’s the consistency! How can I lust for daal chawal if it’s a different type of daal each time you make it?
Harrumph. I see your point, and I’ll take it, albeit grudgingly. Since you only like about five dishes anyway, I suppose I could write down a recipe and stick to it and make you the same thing each day of the week. That sounds so incredibly boring to me, but I know you’d love it.
I’ll just have to explore my diversity as a cook with my own meals.
In return, I’ll ask for just one thing. You’re mighty vocal when a meal displeases you by not being what you expected it to be. I’d greatly appreciate it if you were to give me a token verbal indication when you’re happy with the meal as well. I believe that’d be the recipe for a happy marriage, food wise. I even wrote it down.
A.
Remember last Valentine’s, when you super sweetly put together a hand-cooked candle-light meal of mac and cheese? It was the cutest thing ever, especially since I’m well aware that you think that even ready-to-eat meals are a pain to put together. You obsessed over how the pasta was dry, and offered to put in more water, or add cheese, or… . I hope you remember that I said it was perfectly fine and I loved it.
It was perfectly fine, and I did love it, especially considering the effort you’d put into it. If you’d served me burned pasta with no cheese, it would still have been perfectly fine and I would have loved it. I realize it’s harder to feel similarly magnanimous about the daily meals I cook you – there are so many of them that you have to start taking them for granted a little, or it would be slightly absurd.
It’s great how low maintenance we both are. For the most part, you’ll eat anything, and I really only have to put together one meal in the night, since your office feeds you (and how!). There are no unreasonable demands to make things the way your mother did, or the way my mother did, and thank God for that, because they’re superlative cooks. However, here’s where our opinions diverge, never to meet again.
She thinks: So much repetition when I make dinner every day for the rest of our lives! How do I make this more exciting? What can I try making today?
He thinks: Damn foreign country, I can only get decent food at home. I hope it’s daal-chawal.
She thinks: Stuffed okra? Pumpkin curry?
He thinks: Daal-chawal. Please God, daal-chawal.
She thinks: Fine, if it’ll make him happy, daal-chawal. Again. Hmm, I wonder what would happen if I added aamchur?
He flips his lid. Consistency, woman, where’s the consistency! How can I lust for daal chawal if it’s a different type of daal each time you make it?
Harrumph. I see your point, and I’ll take it, albeit grudgingly. Since you only like about five dishes anyway, I suppose I could write down a recipe and stick to it and make you the same thing each day of the week. That sounds so incredibly boring to me, but I know you’d love it.
I’ll just have to explore my diversity as a cook with my own meals.
In return, I’ll ask for just one thing. You’re mighty vocal when a meal displeases you by not being what you expected it to be. I’d greatly appreciate it if you were to give me a token verbal indication when you’re happy with the meal as well. I believe that’d be the recipe for a happy marriage, food wise. I even wrote it down.
A.
No comments:
Post a Comment