Cross-posting from my other site :p
It’s almost dinner time and I’m thinking again of what to cook for tonight. And tomorrow. And Saturday. And Sunday. And next week.
One of the things I easily got the hang of during our early weeks of marriage was cooking. I discovered I love cooking and actually coming up with meals that I love to eat. Part of the excitement is not knowing what the outcome would be, as I was still experimenting a lot and just cooking from memory – as in remembering how a certain dish should smell and taste like (Baker King??? lol). Of course I had my share of boo-boos. It took me some tries before I learned the exact proportion of soy sauce and vinegar to make theadobo hubby wants.
But, I will never forget the first time I attempted to make buffalo wings. I’d been craving to make buffalo wings since the day we had dinner at Food Choices and Tin ordered them. So one dinner time maybe last month, I decided I’ll try making them. I looked up buffalo wings recipes in the net and made a marinade out of the seasonings and condiments I had at home. In fairness to me, I liked what came out of it. It was spicy, a bit sweet and salty and sour at the same time, just the way I wanted it to be. I liked it so much I snacked on it while waiting for hubby to come home from work.
The acid test came when hubs arrived and I sat down again for my real dinner (you have to understand, hubby doesn’t eat vegetable dishes except tortang talong and munggo, loves lechon kawali and all other fried stuff; in short, he has this simple and basic taste when it comes to food). I proudly showed him the chicken wings, and waited for his reaction. He asked, ‘fried chicken?’ I said, ‘no, experiment ko.’ I didn’t say buffalo wings because it wasn’t really buffalo wings but my own rendition of it :p When he took the first bite, he calmly said he didn’t know what it tastes like – sweet, salty, sour or spicy. And then he said he preferred my plain old fried chicken.
He didn’t expect what happened next, I tell you :p I stood up and finished my food, went up to our room and slept without him knowing what hit him. Bwahahaha. Oh, I threw some lines too, just to let him know that next time he can have his fried chicken as long as he cooks it himself. Wahahahahaha! That was the beginning of a short-lived Cold War :p
The next day, having had some rest and my sense of humor back, I woke up and checked the table. He ate at least two of the chicken, and the rest was demolished by my brother. There was nothing left. I was hoping there would be some left-overs as I really liked it, but to my dismay, nothing of it was left :p
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So tonight I’m going to market again, thinking of what I’ll be cooking for the next few days. It’s hard work, this cooking stuff. Now I appreciate mothers (or fathers, whoever does the cooking at home) more
