After about 26 years of marriage, Dave announced one day that he felt like cooking something.
Up to this point, not much cooking had happened in our house and our kitchen was wasted space. Where our real dining took place was in restaurants — some weeks we ate literally every meal out, which is not only expensive, but hard on the diet. (Heck, we even *got married* in a restaurant! The photo here is of us with our son getting married in an IHOP… the officiating judge was in the booth across from us, and the waitresses were our witnesses. But I digress…)
At the time of Dave’s decision to cook, our rare meals at home usually consisted of re-heated restaurant leftovers, whatever frozen food we could throw in the microwave, or sandwiches loaded with lots of lunchmeat, cheese, and whatever else was on hand.
After his bizarre announcement, into the kitchen he went. After I practically inhaled the delicious concoction he produced, I said: “You mean we could have been eating like this for the last 26 years!?”
I am in awe of his cooking. It’s sometimes difficult to keep from exclaiming between bites how delicious it is. He conjures marvelous soups, sometimes with ingredients you’d never expect, and other dishes with whatever is fresh in the supermarket that season.
I try to share most of his recipes, but he usually makes them up as he goes along and doesn’t always take notes. This turned some of the best meals I’ve ever eaten into mandalas: masterful creations that can only be appreciated in the moment, never to be tasted again. After one too many confessions that he would not be able to recreate one of his masterpieces, he has at least gotten into the habit of sending me the list of ingredients and the basic directions, although he rarely notes quantities. I’ll keep working on that!