My husband is not much of a cook. Not that he can’t cook, he just generally chooses not to. Which is rather surprising considering how long he was a bachelor, but my husband is definitely a member of the fast food generation. He’d much rather order it through a drive-thru or pop it in the microwave than actually have to mix ingredients, saute or wait a good hour for a meal to be prepared. When we first started dating, I found his fridge nearly empty, as were his cupboards, but his freezer, well, that was full of things to be quickly nuked and eaten on the run. I think he also ate a lot of chili dogs.
I don’t generally mind this because although I used to be the same way, I have come to actually enjoy cooking. While the prep time does get on my nerves occasionally, I like the satisfaction making something new brings, especially when it is tasty to boot. Like tonight’s frittata. The recipe sounded a bit fruity at first (and not just because it has tons of apples in it), but since I had some extra apples, that weren’t good for just eating, sitting around the house, I decided to try it. I’m glad I did, because it’s basically a big omlette and although the onion, apple and cheese combo may sound wierd, it tastes phenominal.
While I would without a doubt be thrilled if my husband ducked out of work early one night to make me something tasty after a hard day at work, I get by just fine by defrosting one of my extra casseroles on those extra rough days. It’s still healthy, still yummy and I actually had the satisfaction of making it, even if it was a month ago. Generally our arrangement works out well (the me cooking and him eating and praising).
He does, however, make some kick-ass chocolate covered toffee. Toffee, I should point out, is quite possibly my favorite candy ever. The stuff he makes blows a regular old Heath bar away. It’s better than Skor bars as well. It’s even better than the super gourmet stuff places like Fannie May and Godiva try to sell me. It is hands down the best toffee I’ve ever had. The problem is that he only makes it once a year, usually around Christmas.
This year he didn’t make it at Christmas, despite my (and several of our friends) constant pleading. He waited until last night, after I smiled sweetly, batted my eyes and asked him for the umpteenth time. It was, as I knew it would be, really, really good. I got to enjoy a few pieces of it, but didn’t want to completely ruin my diet (as I was sampling lots of tasty soups), so I refrained from eating the entire container. I watched as he doled some out to each of our friends, secretely thrilled he was keeping the lion’s share back for us.
When I came home today I wanted to nibble on a piece before dinner. I couldn’t find it. He took the entire container to work and his greedy co-workers had devoured all of my toffee. I knew he said he was going to take some to work, I just didn’t realize he meant all of it. The toffee I’d been waiting for for over an entire year blinked out of my life in less than 12 hours. I got maybe five small pieces and then…nothing.
He claims he’ll make more, but I know the truth. It took me nearly a month of begging and pleading to get this batch. As much as he puts on a show about hating to make it, I doubt I’ll see another speck until the holidays approach and he once again feels group pressured (and a need for his ego to be stroked) to make it.
So, for any of you who got some of this delicious concoction…I hate you! Give me my toffee back!