Seafood? Yuck! It swims in its own feces. Why in God's name would I eat that? Sushi?? Even a bigger yuck. Not only does it swim in its own feces, it isn't even cooked to get rid of some of that nastiness. Nuts??? Yuck! Ever since the whole "crunchy peanut butter" fiasco as a child, not a chance in hell! Red wine???? That's only for communion and, I will confess, and as many of you know, I rarely drink the stuff. Cheap vodka? Ahhh - my favorite. Why pay a bunch of money for the top shelf stuff. It all tastes the same. Just give me a cheeseburger, ketchup only, and I'm happy.  All of that was me - before I met my husband. After I met him, he contributed in creating a monster in me . . . a foodie monster! I never could stand the thought of seafood. Truly, I felt that seafood was swimming in the feces and waste of millions of other sea creatures (and Lord knows what else). No way am I eating it - raw or cooked. "Just try it", he would say. "No", I would adamantly state, "not now, not ever". "You don't know what you're missing". He was right. Now, I tend to crave sushi, shrimp is one of my all-time favorites (mainly because it's damn easy to cook), and most seafood I will try - except scallops. Slimy little bastards. On our first trip to Stratford Festival in Canada, we stopped at a rather pretentious restaurant to have a cocktail in their still rather pretentious, but much cheaper, bar. "Let's get dessert", he said. Mike, always the one wanting dessert. Me, I could take it or leave it and, to avoid having an ass the size of Texas, I would avoid it. "What do you want to get?", I asked. The options were few, but all sounded decadent, except the macadamia nut dessert. Nuts. Yuck. Enthusiastically Mike says, "Let's get that macadamia nut dessert". Go figure. "I don't like nuts", I responded. "You haven't even tried it. You might like it." I thought about it for a moment - alright, more like a split second, but I didn't want to dash the poor boy's hopes. "Nope. Won't like it", I finally said. "When was the last time you had nuts?", the ever so logical Mike said. "I told you the crunchy peanut butter story. Babysitter fed me crunchy peanut butter instead of creamy and I haven't had nuts since", I stated with a cocky grin on my face. I was going to win this argument. "You were three", he said, waving the waitress over and ordering the macadamia nut dessert. It was awful. . . ly wonderful and freakin' delicious! All we kept talking about for months was going back and having it again! I hated when he was right. I never liked wine. I started drinking white Zinfandel as a substitute so at those events when I needed to look sophisticated I could try and fake my way through it. Little did I know, white Zinfandel is a dead giveaway for unsophisticated. Mike loved wine and he got me to try it. The problem, I found, was that I never liked red wine because I had only tried cheap red wine. Mike, on the other hand, would get us very good bottles of wine. I'm now a regular wino who has developed a taste for good wine, as well as boxed wine. Hey - you can't always afford the good shit. It was the same with vodka. I remember Mike and I going out one time and the next day I felt awful. Head pounding. Stomach churning. I had been hungover before, don't get me wrong, but I was fairly good at holding my liquor. This particular morning, ugh. That sums it up. Ugh. "It's that cheap crap you drink", he said. Whatever, I thought, just shut up and stop talking so loud. "I think I didn't eat enough", because there was no way I was going to buy into the fact that my tight-wadedness (if that's a word) caused my hangover. "Try Stoli next time." Again I thought, whatever, shut up. "Fine dear, I will", I mumbled to get him to stop talking. Dammit, he was right again. Now, cheap vodka doesn't touch my lips. Before Mike, I never would have tried the things I have. I have had beautifully, well-prepared meals and haven't even wavered shelling out the big bucks for a good meal and a great bottle of wine. I credit my husband for so many things. He taught me self-respect and to stand up for myself. He showed me how it felt to love someone unconditionally, even embracing their faults and idiosyncrasies and loving them just the same. He gave me courage to do those things I always wanted to do, even if it meant I may fail. And, of course, there are the little things - how to play cribbage, how to shoot darts, how to appreciate the History Channel, how to laugh at myself. For over 30 years, I was one of the most picky eaters you would meet. Every time I ordered something, it was minus this and minus that. The waitress needed a spiral notebook to take my order! Today, I enjoy fine dining. No longer do I ask them to minus the tomatoes or hold the sauce. Yes - my husband helped me become the woman I am today and I will forever be grateful for that. And yes - at the same time I curse him for the fact that my food budget went from EZ-Mac & Cheese to filet mignon, but what can I say? My husband created a monster. . . |
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