Chopped

Anybody who has eaten Mark's cooking can attest that he's a great cook. Up until a couple of years ago Mark did all the cooking at our house. Slowly as his health problems made it more difficult, I have taken over the serving of meals. Anybody who knows me, knows that I hate to cook. But I have to feed Mark and myself, so I've learned a few things. I have learned to make food that isn't too disgusting to Mark. Personally, I will eat most anything put in front of me. The generic frozen pizza from Jewel Food Stores is quite good and the frozen Mandarin chicken from Trader Joe's hits the spot. Toss a piece of meat on a grill and as long as the outer bits are charred, I'll eat it. Not Mark. He is a very picky eater. So picky that I've started calling him 'Lila'. He pretty much takes the food I give him, rearranges it on his plate, and says he's done. Later he'll order up a peanut butter and jelly sandwich because he's hungry. So anyway, last night I made chicken thighs in a mushroom sauce for dinner. I did not pull it out of the freezer in a box, I made it all from scratch. Fresh chicken, real mushrooms, and I even peeled and minced some garlic cloves. I was very proud of myself as I placed Mark's dinner in front of him.

"What's this?"

"Chicken thighs in a mushroom sauce."

"You know I don't like chicken thighs."

Mark then proceeded to poke around at the food and check to make sure the chicken wasn't raw. It wasn't. I thought I had made a pretty decent dinner. The chicken tasted delicious to me. I had made one mistake in the preparation, forgetting to add the thyme and oregano. So I threw it in at the last minute and mixed it into the sauce.

"It has a very strong flavor...."

"Really? I like it. Don't you like it?"

Mark moved the food around on his plate a little, put another small bite into his mouth. I felt like I was on one of those stupid cooking contest shows, waiting to be 'Chopped' from the competition.

"You added the thyme and oregano at the wrong time."

Well sonofabitch, how did he know that? Mark was not in the kitchen, not once, while I made dinner. Yet he knew exactly what my mistake was. Yes, I was insulted. Yes, I cursed him and got a bit pissed off. And yes, I learned something. Mark knows his shit.