Blog

Last night I laid out on the counter all the ingredients I was planning to use to make fancy grilled pizzas and salad for dinner – crust, pizza sauce, fresh mozzarella, basil leaves, mushrooms, artichoke hearts, kalamata olives, red peppers, asparagus, shrimp, green onion, and cilantro. As I surveyed the ingredients, a thought came into my mind….”Mmmmm!!” followed by “Uhh, what is my husband going to eat for dinner?” In an apparent lapse of brain power as I was planning the week’s meals*, I somehow arrived at the conclusion that this would be a great meal for us – never mind that my husband doesn’t like artichokes, kalamata olives, red pepper, shrimp, or a bunch of green, healthy-looking things. How this happened, I’m not quite sure, but somewhere in my head the meal must have sounded like a delicious culinary adventure and I must have stupidly forgotten that I have a husband now, and that this meat-cheese-and-potatoes Wisconsin man definitely doesn’t eat asparagus, shrimp and herb salads. He’ll try almost anything I make at least once, and even if he doesn’t love it, he’ll eat it. But I think this was pushing it.

Usually, I’m pretty good at cooking meals that use lots of veggies and “weird foods” that I love but that still looks and tastes delicious and normal enough that he likes them too. As I studied our pizza – my half smothered in goodies and his half plain as can be, I realized that the man was going to starve. Our cabinets were bare, devoid of milk, beer, or even the classic standby of macaroni and cheese (the horror!) because I was too pansy to make my weekly run to the store in the snow and -85 degree temperatures yesterday. I still stand by this decision. When Ted came home and asked what was for dinner, I confessed that I knew what I was eating but I wasn’t so sure what he was going to eat. He glanced at the ingredients, burst out laughing, and gave me a huge hug – probably relived that I wasn’t going to make him try the salad. Good thing he has a sense of humor. So while I dined on an appetizing fancy-pants pizza and asparagus and shrimp side salad, Ted chowed on a good old basic pizza (which he said was really good – take that Papa John’s!) and a loaf of garlic bread. If this is the only meal failure I’ve had since we got married, I’ll take it!

*On a side note, I distinctly remember turning to my friends Katie and Katy, snickering, and making some snide, smart-ass remark about how I would never be lame enough to sit down and plan out a weekly dinner menu when our Martha Stewart-esque home economics teacher suggested we plan out meals for our future-families during senior year of high school. HA. How the tables have turned! I honestly don’t think I could navigate Kroger without my pre-planned shopping list of ingredients of what I need for each meal. I have to do it, that way I don’t spend $8 trillion and come out with random crap like glazed doughnuts, almond paste and tarter sauce. That home economics class deserves a post all of its own. I’m still convinced that lady was a little nuts. It was a complete fluke that my best friends and I ended up in her class at all – I certainly didn’t sign up for it willingly. You see, one of the Katie(y)’s – I don’t even remember which one anymore…was senior year really seven years ago!? – somehow got put into Home Economics (or “Kindergarten” as well affectionately called it) because the elective she’d signed up for was full. She couldn’t transfer out because all the other classes were full at that point and it was too late. In a fit of misery, she convinced me to sign up for the class with her so that at least she wouldn’t have to suffer alone. I dragged the other Katie(y) along so we could all be miserable together. We were that poor teacher’s worst nightmare. We were the most exhausting, exasperating girls she’d ever had in that class.

In the “nutritious breakfast” unit we all three claimed an egg allergy and instead played egg toss across the room – until the eggs broke all over the floor. In the “how to find your future mate” unit we laughed relentlessly about the ridiculous title of the term “mate” and doodled hearts and cupids on all the personality-match worksheets. In the “life lessons” unit we squeezed so hard that we burst open a tube of toothpaste and then spooned it back into the back end of the bottle, thus ruining our teacher’s entire lesson plan and moral of the story. And in the “children’s birthday party” unit while everyone else put together pretty-pretty-princess parties, we designed a pirate party complete with ridiculous pirate names, a cake of someone tied to the mast of a ship, and a sharks & blood ocean beverage (blue koolaide with Swedish fish ice cubes). She was a little horrified and definitely less than amused. I know there exist pictures of the three of us in this class – applying false eyelashes, accidentally showing up wearing the same shirts, and with our pirate party – but I just can’t seem to find them on my computer. Maybe Katie still has them (do you? If so, please email them to me. You know, in all your free time between feeding your baby and studying for grad school exams).

I probably should have spent less time blowing off the housewife class and more time at least pretending to listen so our teacher didn’t have to dread every Monday, Wednesday and Friday at 8 a.m., but really, she lost me when she wanted us to learn how to iron so we’d be prepared to iron our husband’s shirts. Get real – it’s 2004, we thought. And I still kind of think that. I love him dearly, but Ted can iron his own shirts.

Anyway, to make up for last night’s debacle, I have decided to make steak tacos and mint chocolate chip cookies tonight. See, who says I wasn’t listening to our home ec. teacher? I’ve successfully designed and planned far better things than awesome kids parties (try full-length kids musical theatre productions with 38 children and 5 staff!), I found my perfect mate, I can make a mean and nutritious breakfast including eggs, I know how to iron without setting anything on fire, I’ve learned some life lessons (though the tooth paste one will always stick with me because it was hilarious), and I can even make decent meals. There. She would be so proud. So, Mrs. Merrill, wherever you are, thank you for your endless patience and kindness (even if it was fake and all along you were wishing you could smack us). You’ll be glad to know that I didn’t turn out to be a complete failure at all things domestic. And sorry for ruining the toothpaste lesson.

To make up for the home economics pictures I can’t find, here are a few of my favorites from our rehearsal & rehearsal dinner: