Homemade (#351)

As I mentioned in previous posts, my husband had a grudge against all the gifts I got from ex-boyfriends. Not an angry, “burn them ALL” kind of grudge, but the kind where stuff disappeared. Mainly, I found it amusing (I’m not much for jewelry anyway), but I did fight to keep my favorite purse.  Also, I lied about the provenance of a few other items and I still have those, so HA!

I’m not sure why some? All? men are like this. Is a woman wearing the clothes or jewelry a man bought her the human equivalent of a dog peeing on something to make it his own? If so, karma already got back at Andy; the first time we took our rescue dog Woofie to the dog beach, the dog had a blast, playing in the waves—only to return to us, lift his leg next to Andy, and pee on my husband.

I laughed so hard, I nearly peed my own self.

I’m too busy living that exhausting SAHM life to even look at other men. Andy hasn’t got the slightest reason to be jealous.

Of men. (Or women)

The only thing I drool over now is food. I grew up on very bad American staples like Hamburger Helper and TV dinners. McDonald’s was exciting to us. Gourmet or even homemade food with seasoning and spices? Heaven.

My brother-in-law once made a fabulous beef Wellington for Christmas dinner. Half the kids were asleep at the table when it was finally served at 9 PM, but I raved about beef Wellington for weeks.

Next Christmas, Andy made beef Wellington.

Andy’s beef Wellington

A French-Canadian opened up a restaurant near us that served poutine. I hadn’t had poutine since a visit to Ottawa years ago. I dragged Andy there and made ecstatic noises as I scarfed down French fries covered in cheese curds and gravy.

Andy told me it was a heart attack on a plate.

I said, “At least I’ll die before the dementia gets me.”

Andy got a fryer and perfected his doubled-fried French fries, along with giblet gravy.

Andy’s fries, back in the days of our first small fryer.

Cheese curds are very hard to find in Los Angeles (which makes me so jealous of Midwest Mark My Words), but Andy found some garlic cheese curds at the Farmer’s Market. Now he makes poutine for my birthday and Mother’s Day. (And he even has some, too, without a single comment about cardiac arrests.)

On one visit to Utah, Current Stepmother made prime rib with Yorkshire pudding. That Yorkshire pudding, covered in jus? It was the bomb.

British Sunday Dinner!

Guess who got TWO Sunday dinners with primes rib and Yorkshire pudding before her husband tore a ligament in his dominant hand?

I did.

When a new burger place featured an Impossible Burger with chipotle aioli, I only had to get take out twice before Andy started making me Impossible burgers with homemade chipotle aioli and homemade buns.

After dinner with friends at The Melting Pot, Andy got a fondue pot, raclette cheese, and made his own. He even makes baguettes from scratch.

Andy’s pizza.

We don’t do takeout pizza anymore, because it can’t compare to Andy’s homemade crust and tomato sauce. But then I oohed and ahhed over an Italian chef who showcased his fried pizza on Netflix. Andy fried up a wedge of pizza dough with mozzarella, arugula pesto, and tomato on the inside and it was to die for.

Sometimes, I’ll suggest going out to dinner. Andy will shrug and say, “But I make it better at home and it’s much cheaper.” And he’s not wrong.

Perhaps Andy upstaging all other chefs is about saving money. The man is very frugal.

Perhaps he merely enjoys making delicious food for an appreciative audience.

Perhaps it’s just male insecurity channeled productively.

Whatever the reason, all I can say is, “Well played, sir.

“Tonight we’re eating in.”

Fondue Night!

Published by

Autumn Ashbough

WF writing about the humorous perils of life with Chinese-American significant other.

17 thoughts on “Homemade (#351)”

  1. The ability to make something better at home than you’d find in a restaurant is a solid reason to stay home instead. We started running into that problem in Rapid City. Then again, the food scene there is nothing to write home about. Different story here in Wisconsin (starting, of course, with those awesome cheese curds you mentioned). Even if we CAN make something just as good at home though, sometimes you just want to kick back and let somebody else do the cooking…and the cleaning up after.

    Ironically, Tara just mentioned Yorkshire pudding a couple of days ago. We haven’t had it in many years. How soon can Andy stop by and whip up a batch for us?

  2. I don’t know if the plate featured in your first photo is one of those you obtained *elsewhere* but we used to have a few in that pattern. So pretty as are the photos of food you posted here. I love your line: “At least I’ll die before the dementia gets me.” My thoughts, exactly.

  3. Following your blog for so long, it’s no secret Andy can cook. But this just shows he can cook about anything and everything, taking homemade cooking to another level. It could certainly be male insecurity channeled productively, but I think it is more so that he can cook. Not everyone can cook and it tastes great.

    I bet Andy’s pizza is nothing like greasy takeout pizza but actually pizza on another level – and it does look that way in the photo. I assume he did not use cheap mozzarella. Or if he does use cheap ingredients, he finds a way to make it all taste restaurant-grade.

    1. For some pizzas, regular shredded mozzarella is fine–Baby D likes his with mushrooms and pepperoni. But for the Margherita pizza with fresh tomatoes and pesto arugula? Fresh mozzarella is the best.

      He is a very gifted chef and enjoys trying new dishes and perfecting them. So perhaps the food I like merely represents a new challenge.

  4. It is both a joy and a curse to have a man who’s fabulous in the kitchen. Himself is one of those, and my (non-existent) waistline struggles as I don’t exercise anyway near enough. The only problem is that eating out is something I only get to experience with my girlfriends, as he’d always rather cook and eat at home. There is this fabulous restaurant that does great South Indian food, and Indian food is one thing he can never be bothered to do the full works on – and with an Anglo-Indian mother, I’m very spoiled (and fussy) 😀

    I hope that your month of hurt Andy is nearly at an end 😉

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