I didn’t realize that my first date with Eric was just that: a date. For all I knew, we were just old friends falling back in touch. Falling in love was a far reach.
Yes, I had had a crush on him from age fourteen on, but I would not allow that to affect my twenty-five year old, single self.
Keep it cool, Brie. You’re an adult now. You no longer own overalls.
I distinctly remember…it was after our first round of drinks that I found out Eric can’t smell or taste anything. Anosmia, it’s called. Eric’s came at the onset of injuries sustained from a serious car accident that occurred only eight months prior.
To say I was taken aback would be the understatement of the century. I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again: I don’t eat to live. I live to eat.
Since I suffer from perpetual foot-in-mouth disease mixed with the lack of being able to leave an awkward silence alone, I simply blurted out the first thing that came to mind.
“Well, you’ll make a lousy cook a very happy wife one day!”
Way with words, right here.
As luck (and irony) would have it, I ended up being the girl Eric asked to marry him. No, not right then…the proposal took place about a year and a half later.
Fast forward another eight months after I said “yes.” It’s our wedding day and unbeknownst to me, Eric has woven my kitchen prowess right into his vows. I about laughed myself halfway back down the aisle when our Justice of Peace said – in all seriousness – that one of the reasons Eric loves me is the fact that I’m a “good cook.”
The kicker is that Eric wasn’t kidding. Truth be told – he thinks I’m a great cook.
When we started seeing each other, Eric was eating nothing but plain turkey burgers and baby spinach for breakfast, lunch and – yep, you guessed it – dinner.
I’d sooner starve than eat that for one meal a day, never mind all three.
I was determined to make eating enjoyable for him again and being a stubborn gal, I wanted to get to his heart the only way I knew how. You know what they say about men, hearts and stomachs? Same held true here, just minus the flavor factor.
In my kitchen, texture takes center stage and a little creativity goes a long way. Even though the way I cook has changed, I really wouldn’t have it any other way.
After all, I get to share all my meals with this man. Fo’ life.
Yes, I was wrong about Eric marrying a lousy cook, but I could not have been more spot on about his ability to make a woman very happy as his wife.