Tall Husband loves even simple things, such as my oatmeal raisin-pecan cookies.
Our first breakfast together determined that Tall Husband would never be the cook in our family. He happily informed me that he was going to prepare scrambled eggs for me, which he did. I didn't think anything could be worse than the cup of instant coffee he had served me but the eggs proved me wrong. He was excited about having remembered his son's egg recipe and asked me to guess the spice he had used. The spice? Ground cinnamon! Forcing down those eggs was an act of love.
As it turned out, I wasn't the cook of the household right away, as Tall Husband's teenage son was an accomplished cook, probably in self defense. (And it wasn't ground cinnamon he had used in his eggs; it was fresh cilantro.) So during the early part of our marriage, his son did the cooking and Tall Husband cleaned up behind him...Then one evening after the last dinner dish was put away, the two of them said that we must have a family meeting.
Tall Husband spoke first: "Can you cook?"
Me: "Cook?" I wanted to know where this was leading.
Tall Husband: "Yes, cook. Can you, for example, make a meat dish or soup?'
Me: "Yes. In fact I can make minestrone."
Teenage Son: "Oh, great! I bet she does that every twenty-eight days."
What they wanted was that I share in the kitchen duties. I had to confess that I indeed could cook; that I had learned to cook in some of the best kitchens in Europe. So Tall Husband fell in love with my cooking and I fell in love with his lavish praise. When I tie on an apron, it's tantamount to foreplay.
During a trip to Paris, Tall Husband learned the secret of really great coffee. He now makes a magic cup of Joe.
As it turned out, I wasn't the cook of the household right away, as Tall Husband's teenage son was an accomplished cook, probably in self defense. (And it wasn't ground cinnamon he had used in his eggs; it was fresh cilantro.) So during the early part of our marriage, his son did the cooking and Tall Husband cleaned up behind him...Then one evening after the last dinner dish was put away, the two of them said that we must have a family meeting.
Tall Husband spoke first: "Can you cook?"
Me: "Cook?" I wanted to know where this was leading.
Tall Husband: "Yes, cook. Can you, for example, make a meat dish or soup?'
Me: "Yes. In fact I can make minestrone."
Teenage Son: "Oh, great! I bet she does that every twenty-eight days."
What they wanted was that I share in the kitchen duties. I had to confess that I indeed could cook; that I had learned to cook in some of the best kitchens in Europe. So Tall Husband fell in love with my cooking and I fell in love with his lavish praise. When I tie on an apron, it's tantamount to foreplay.
During a trip to Paris, Tall Husband learned the secret of really great coffee. He now makes a magic cup of Joe.
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