It's been two years and
two days since I “boogallooed to Bogota” from the business world.
No more, “telephones, managers and where you have to be at noon” in the words of Crosby, Stills, Nash & Young. And in
that time I've won the Eastern Massachusetts “Father of the Year”
award, the Essex County “Grandfather of the Year” award and now
I'm going for the Testosterone Trifecta, the Inter Galactic “Husband
of the Year” award.
It won't be easy because
it involves cooking. No, I don't mean preparing my usual culinary
masterpieces which include (but are not limited to) Tuesday tacos and
George Foreman grilled chicken with baked potato, salad AND corn. As
well as, my particular favorites, I call them “Breakfast at Dinner”meals: one is hand-flipped blueberry pancakes and another is a personally customized 3 egg omelet with all
the fixins. Nothing says "lovin" to the bride better than her coming through the door after a hard day's work and smelling something cooking on the stove that she doesn't have to prepare. I swear I could serve her sauteed chipmunk and she'd say, "Heck, I didn't have to cook it....looks good to me....did you put garlic in it?"
Tonight, I'm throwing
caution to the wind and I'm actually preparing a meal from a recipe.
Now, the recipe is from the bride but that actually creates more
pressure since she can create this meal with her eyes closed after
all these years, but me being the “chef enfant” here, I'm under
the gun. As my dear, departed mother used to say, "Easy when you know how." Now we're not talking about preparing Beef Wellington, we're
talking about American Chop Suey. What meal would be more patriotic
to dine on the night before the election and the subsequent change in
political administrations than American Chop Suey? (At least the
American part.) Heck, I bet every red blooded Tom, Dick and Harry
will be eating American Chop Suey in Sheboygan tonight, just before they have Mom's apple pie for dessert.
The recipe seems so simple
on paper, kind of like the plans for D Day. Saute this and boil that,
then combine. It's like landing a 747 in a blizzard during a solar
eclipse. But we all need to get out from our omelet, pancake and taco
comfort zones, don't we? If the Flying Wallendas never took that
first step on a wire over Niagara Falls, where would the dare devil
business be? Of course, there aren't as many Flying Wallendas around as there used to be, but I digress.
It's a little troubling
that written on the bride's recipe card is the word “garlic” not
once but twice. Mushrooms, garlic, peppers, olive oil, garlic......it
says. Just to bring you up to speed, the bride LOVES garlic like
yours truly likes to “feather” a three iron, 225 yards into a
tucked pin against the wind on a warm but not hot Thursday in August.
Get the picture? I mean she would brush her teeth with garlic if
there weren't laws in Massachusetts against such a thing. We don't just buy garlic in our
house, we put it out to bid to acquire it by the train car lode. I mean,
after I eat the bride's spaghetti and meatballs, I need eyewash,
it's that strong. But, come to think of it, I haven't seen a vampire
around these parts for years.
So I'll throw caution to
the wind this evening. I'll take one for the team. I'll step up to
the plate. What's the worst that can happen? Montezuma's revenge? Or
in this case Mao's revenge?
If there's a problem, I'm
blaming it on the garlic.
Until next
time............
