I have been a picky eater all of my life. I never thought it was unusual or troublesome to make special requests at the restaurants I would visit. Actually, I thought that my menu suggestions were typically an improvement upon the original dish and that being selective made me original. I have learned, however, that it just makes me annoying. Mostly to my husband. After 27 years of marriage, you would think he would be used to watching me scrape the ketchup and mustard off my hamburger, cut the crust off my bread and order just about everything “on the side”. Every one of these actions, however, will elicit an eye roll from him.
He has tried his best to drag me out of my culinary coma that consists mostly of plain scrambled eggs, sandwiches without condiments and peanut buster parfaits without the peanuts. Last weekend at breakfast I thought maybe I should just warn him that I would be ordering a goat cheese omelet without the goat cheese. This only caused him to roll his eyes before I placed my order rather than after.
In a recent attempt to diversify my cuisine he decided to prepare dinner for me. The menu? Stuffed jalapenos followed by the hottest chicken wings on the planet. Knowing how much I exasperate him with my unusual eating habits I tried my best to eat everything that he prepared.
I took my chances and bravely bit into what I consider the Russian roulette of food, the jalapeno. Immediately, my eyes began to water profusely. I tried to play it cool and dabbed my napkin gingerly to my face as if I had just recalled a sentimental moment from long ago. “It’s too hot for you isn’t it?” he inquired. “No, no, not at all,” I said as I waved my hand in the air.
I decided to abandon the appetizer and focus on the entre instead. The second bite of my chicken wing sent a rapid flush from the base of my neck to my scalp. I smiled weakly and continued chewing. Next, my ears started to tingle but I barely noticed this as I was beginning to lose feeling in my lips. “You really don’t have to eat this, honey,” he offered sympathetically. “I’m fine,” I managed to croak between my parched lips. A fine sweat started to form at my temples. “Let me get you a glass of water,” he said jumping up.
“That would be great,” I managed. “But, no ice please.”
And that was it. Any sympathy I had just gained was replaced with the eye roll.
I can relate to all of this! Too funny!
Just like me!
I too thought my adjustments to the offered menu items were a vast improvement and a greatful chef would implement them into a new menu, crediting me as the creator!