Wednesday, January 28, 2009

Another Dirty Secret....

I can't make a decent meatloaf. Nope, I can't. I've tried a million different recipes. I think it comes down to this--- I don't like meatloaf, never have. Logic, eh?

Problem is--- I don't like mashed potatoes either, but I can make some mean taters. My husband loves meatloaf and mashed potatoes. Bully for him.

I am terribly complicated.

I had been married just a little while when I decided to tackle Veal Parmigiana. Who need s a recipe for that? It's a breaded veal patty, spaghetti sauce, and cheese. How hard can that be?

I pulled my little masterpieces out of the oven and immediately struck by their appearance. The were flat..... and brown. Not very appetizing, but I figured if he ate my meatloaf, this would be a treat!

I do need to apologize in advance to any buffalo, buffalo owners, or just folks who like buffalo. These flat brown discs looked just like buffalo chips. Actually, they would need a face lift to look as good as buffalo chips. It must have been because they were brown and steamy.

To back up for a moment, I must expound on my dishes. As a young innocent (read as STOOPID) bride, I happily purchased a set of snow white Correle Ware, four place settings. I say happily, as it may have been my first purchase where I used some common sense. They were white-- and matched everything! They were unbreakable and would outlive me! I could bequeath them to my children. I was using my noggin! It was a new and heady feeling.

I lovingly displayed my piles of.... er-- my veal masterpiece on my snow white unbreakable dishes, and covered both plates with pot lids so as to keep them piping hot for my beloved. I innocently called him to dinner. (enter blue birds untying my apron strings)

I explained the dish to him and he cocked his eyebrow at me (in a disbelieving sneer, now that I've learned what the look really means) and removed his lid. I did as well.

He says, "I'm not eating this."
I say, "Yes, you are." (I don't say this anymore)
He says, "No, I'm not eating this", and pushes it away.
I say, "OH Yes, you are." (another one deleted from my vocab) I push it back.
He says, "I'M NOT EATING THIS %&$*." Push away. Again.
I say, "OH YES YOU ARE!!!!" (a quick learner I am not)

He picks up one of the pot lids, and in a lovely tennis overhand arc, smashes it down. On my plate. AND BREAKS MY UNBREAKABLE PLATE!!!! Shatters it. And shattered my psyche in a thousand shards.

This was too much for my feeble brain to handle. I leaped to my feet and grabbed my chair. In my best lion tamer moves, I screeched, "$&#^$*% *$#$*% &$%*&#", don't ask me to translate. It wasn't my prettiest moment.

At this point, my brain shorted out. I threw the chair at him. This becomes a theme for the first 10, okay maybe 15, years of my marriage.

My chair shatters.

I have never attempted Veal Parmigiana since.

Lesson learned.


Nancy from MA said... sister comes to mind. She often told the story, at my urging, about the day her husband ticked her off, and she sailed a full bowl of rice krispies at him from the dining area to the kitchen. She says she found rice krispies for YEARS after. Theirs was a wild ride, and they loved each other to you guys do. Damn, I'm going to miss her. Thanks for the image you painted..."Right to the moon, Alice!!"

FairyGodMother said...

I'm glad you liked it, Nancy. Someone asked me the secret to being married 30 years and I answered, "Because my husband has good reflexes!" He wasn't a happy camper when I started using cast iron frying pans...