The way to his heart....

"I think I'll have a screwdriver without that nasty, bitter orange juice." -Tom

Whenever I am in Texas with Mr. Hot Pilot and Munchkin, it is important for me to flex my domestic-woman muscles and take care of my boys the best way I know how : good food. My boyfriend is an extremely health conscious person, and I try to adopt his healthy ways when I feed them. Of course I enjoy presenting them with yummy foods that my mother has served us in the past (and hopefully will knock his socks off and have him see what great wife material I am). So far I have been pretty successful with them liking what I make for dinner. The roast chicken and garlic green beans were an instant favorite, and Munchkin gave me kisses for that dinner. But of course there are those times when you bomb. And for some reason I have been bombing quite a bit lately.

It all started with the chicken pasta salad I made them. And this isn't necessarily an easy recipe. I had vegetables to chop. Dressings to be made. Chicken to be sauteed. And then there were the artichokes. Yep. Should have known the artichokes would crash and burn before takeoff. Munckin is very blunt when he tells you he doesn't like something - and you had better have thick skin or he will eat you alive. We all sat around what I considered a super success of a dinner. Munchkin takes a forkful, chews thoughtfully and then points his fork in the air and goes "yeah, this is yuck salad". And there you have it folks. The connoisseur of food himself gave you the big, fat, forks down. And then of course I while talking to Mr. Hot Pilot the next evening after I'd flown home, he tells me "Man, those artichokes did a number on my stomach! I spent half the night in the bathroom!". Sure. Blame it on the artichokes.

You know what I blame it on? The chicken that he cooked the night before and let sit on the stove for 4 hours before refrigerating and THEN EATING IT the next night (the night of bowel mayhem) for dinner.

So I tried again a few weeks later. With a very benign, normal, everyone eats it fish called Tilapia. I had Munchkin come to Walmart with me to pick out the seasoning, and home we went to steam it. Healthy food? Check. Easy to prepare? Absolutely. And then came the first bite from Munchkin later that evening. There was the first forkful, then the thoughtful pondering as he chewed. And then there was that ever recognizable fork point....and then..."Sick! This fish tastes SICK DUDE." (Yes, Munchkin says dude almost as much as his dad and I do. What can I say, the kid is awesome.) What the heck? EVERYONE eats Tilapia for crying out christmas! Well everyone except Mr. Hot Pilot and Munchkin apparently. Mr. Hot Pilot asked "So what is this fish anyway?". When I told him Tilapia he cups his hands around his mouth and whispers to me "Oh, we don't eat Tilapia." WHAT?!?! You don't EAT Tilapia? Oh, how sorry I am my dear, I should have fixed you smoked Salmon in a lobster bisque sauce with a side of our most expensive caviar. My mistake. So now, I have decided to forfeit my culinary awesomeness, throw in the towel and take his mother up on learning the fine art of preparing the Puerto Rican food my man and his boy love.

On a side note, I work in a Trauma Center here in Baltimore. Last weekend a man came in after having been stabbed by his wife for complaining about what she served him for breakfast. Men, I suggest you love your women no matter what they set in front of you for dinner. Unless of course you would like to take over the task? I'm just sayin'!

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