I Give Up

Not really...it's an empty threat and anyone who knows me, knows it. It usually makes me feel better and its a good way for me to get my point across.

"What happened?" you ask. Dinner. That's what happened. I like to think that I'm a good cook. After all, I like my cooking (usually). The truth is, I'f good intentions counted, I'd be a mater chef. Unfortunatley, "the road to hell is paved with good intentions. "

I am a very adventurous eater. I'll eat damn near anything and I get excited about new foods. I love to mix flavors and often times get a tiny bit of everything from my plate onto my fork for each bite. I like sweet and hot and salty and cold and creamy and raw and cooked and grilled and smoked. I LOVE food. I love that the possibilities are endless.

My husband, on the other hand, is a meat and potatoes man. As far as seasonings go, if it's not salt, pepper, or brown gravy, it's "sauce" and he doesn't want his food "all sauced up!" After 11 years with him, I find myself in a cycle. I cook what he likes (fried chicken and pork, steaks, hamburgers, and lots and lots of potatoes and corn) for several weeks, then I get bored. I try to sneak foods in thinking that eventually he will see things my way and become a lover of all things "food". It never works. Even when I try to do it straight his way, I still manage to jack things up.

Last night was what I thought a "his" dinner night. I made pork chops, smothered in gravy served with baked potatoes and cheesy cauliflower. I sauteed some onion and garlic in olive oil, then added the pork chops to brown, then some chicken broth and flour. Simple enough, yes? No.

How was I to know that the garlic was industrial strength concentrate? There was no warning label on it. It's just a bulb of garlic. Recipe called for 4 cloves (settle down--I know the difference between a clove and a bulb). I thought that sounded a bit much for pork chops, so I only used two. Within minutes, my nose burned and my eyes watered...ah crap...I start trying to scoop it out. Five minutes later my husband yells from downstairs, "What the hell are you cooking in there...my god...are you trying to kill me?!" He was right. It was crazy. We opened the windows, the doors, and turned on fans trying to air the house out. And, of course, it's like 25 degrees outside, so now the house is like an ice box.

All he could say was, "What the hell would you put garlic on a pork chop for anyway?"

"Then YOU cook!" I tell him, "I give up!" I swore as I marched up stairs to read. I still don't know if he ate it.