French Husband loves to eat. I was taught that the way to a man's heart is through his stomach. It stands to reason that we'd make a good team. Except he eats so fast. His plate is cleared-off before I've taken my first bite. Honestly, he shatters the French image of proper dining etiquette. He borderlines abnormal in this department. I've often wondered why he doesn't enter a food eating contest.
To slow down his rapid hand-to-mouth feeding, I propose simple non-threatening questions, non-threatening because he could blow food chunks! Questions such as,
"What are you eating?"
Last night was no exception. I made curry lentils with coconut. I asked French Husband if he could define the flavors he was inhaling? Barely coming up for air he answered,
"Brown and good!"
"Really," trying not to be insulted I laughed, "I haven't seen brown and good in the market. Seriously, Honey what is the flavor of brown and good?"
He guessed cinnamon.
He thinks humor will charm me. Which it does. Though I did not lend a smile.
French Husband knew if he wanted seconds he had to appease the cook. He always wants thirds so he had to make up big time. He added without licking his lips, "The dinner tasted like bananas mixed with little grainy things and chopped white stuff." And as if that was the craziest answer, he added, "...there were hints of chocolate, eggs and tomatoes."
Nothing surprises me when it comes to his description of food. He almost described a cake until he said tomatoes.
Sometimes I wonder if he is just being cute, or truly a clueless dude when it comes to flavors.
I gave enough clues that the fish in the pond could've given me the answer.
I said, "It is white." He teased, "Oh white chocolate!" Not acknowledging that response I continued, "It grows on a tree." French Husband frowned, "Mais Oui, I said bananas!"
You're probably thinking he is being funny, that he's pretending to be food illiterate. Trust me he is not kidding. He claimed to our baker friend that mustard would be a sweet flavor to add to brownies. Before that comment she thought his "French" admiration to her baking was honorable. He is really just a piglet in a handsome French body.
Looking at him I shook my head, "Remember I am listening, and trying not to feel like I could cook a shoe and you would eat it."
One last clue. "It starts with the letter "C" and it is a tough nut."
French Husband didn't miss a beat. He looked at me with a twinkle in his eye. I smirked, "Don't even say Corey, or you will be eating rocks tomorrow for dinner!"
French Husband does love my cooking. Actually that doesn't sound like a compliment anymore. I'll let you know what he thinks of rock souffle.
Photos: Of a French vintage journal about love, food and homemaking.
