I don't think I've ever mentioned what a great cook my husband is. See? And he thinks I never say anything nice about him. I appreciate his culinary skills because a) I like to eat; and b) I don't know how to cook. He has a subscription to Everyday Food by Martha Stewart and several times a week whips up a high-end restaurant quality dinner. Glazed pork chops with smashed potatoes and stewed green beans. Herb-crusted salmon with spinach salad. Seared steak with mozzarella tomato salad and roasted vegetables. Nice, right?
BUT. People, there is always a but.
When he makes these dinners, I can't just say, "Wow, this is great! Thanks!" and eat my meal in peace. The conversation usually goes something like this:
Me: (sit down and take first bite of food) This is awesome, thanks.
Him: Yeah? Really? What do you think of the pork?
Me: Oh, I haven't tried it yet, but the potatoes are great.
Him: (Waits while I take bite of pork and watches my expression) What do you think?
Him: Can you taste the pineapple in the glaze?
Me: Mmm hmmm. Very good.
Him: There's some brown sugar in there too.
Me: Yeah, tastes good.
Him: Do you think it's overdone?
Me: No, it's perfect.
Him: Maybe I'll make this the next time the So-and-Sos come over for dinner.
Me: Good idea.
Him: What about the tomato salad? Did you try that yet?
Me: (take bite of tomato salad) Yup, love it.
Him: I made it more peppery than usual. We got that new pepper dispenser. I think it made a big difference. Can you tell?
Me: Very peppery. Yes.
Him: The potatoes have a bit of heavy cream mixed in. Really makes them creamy, huh?
Me: I SAID EVERYTHING IS GOOD. SHUT THE FU#$ UP AND LET ME EAT.
I don't care that you went off-recipe and added a dash of paprika. And no, I don't think the new pepper dispenser made one iota of a difference. And, frankly, don't tell me there is heavy cream in ANYTHING because then I'm just thinking of how many freaking calories I just ate.
I think I'm just going to order Dominoes every night. Presumably the guy who makes the pizza won't come to my house, watch me eat and then proceed to grill me relentlessly like I'm a murder suspect. "Didn't I space out the pepperoni slices perfectly over your pizza?" "Can you taste the hint of garlic the Dominoes franchise makes us put in the crust batter?" "Not everyone can pull off adding chunks of pineapple to a pizza the way I can, huh?"
Good thing my husband doesn't know about this blog. He's making grilled beef tenderloin tonight so I don't want to piss him off.