Just yesterday right after Awesomepants came home from work, I served him the chicken salad he wanted. It had spinach, mushrooms, tomatoes and chicken marinated in lemon/garlic/pepper/cumin. It was the last thing from “special” but I already knew it was a very good day. My boy, he’s very specific with his food cravings. Specific in a way that’s not too picky and it let’s me do my thing. Specific is a good way to describe this here what I’m going to write. Or maybe not at all, knowing the way I usually write (Miss Bounce of the Walls G D’Souza).
Honestly, this is supposed to be a “I’m so lucky. Yay, I’m married and my life is amazing” kind of post. I am not going to do that. Yes, my life is amazing.
I always thought I hated to cook. Always. I had no desire to cook anything because I saved all of that desire to stuff my face. Cooking? Hahaha. My mother will do it. I could chop onions and all that and sometimes when I was 10 or 11, our house help Sumita taught me how to cook the basic vegetable fare so she could rollerskate with Gayle in the hall. I couldn’t rollerjam so I was okay with the arrangement.
In 2010, when I came here to be with my future husband, I cooked. Something was wrong with me. I tried the chickens and salmons of the world and I was really good! The boyfriend was also on a healthy-eating kick which made my experiments even more fun because I loved known what we were eating was going to give our insides big hugs. He taught me how to make cheeseburgers (with turkey mince!) and I was captivated. Sounds so lame right now. Captivated by a cheeseburger. Maybe this should be the title of the post. His early lessons were the small wake up calls. When he showed me how to grill salmon, I went online, found other recipes and tried to make it a bit more interesting. His reactions were always encouraging…not like it was important or anything.
I went on with my kitchen fun until I had to go back to India. Then, things slowed down a bit. I didn’t stop cooking completely, but I lost some interest. Gayle was usually the cooking star daughter so I let that be. That and my mother would complain that I use too little or not enough salt. Awesomepants has high BP issues so maybe I did try to spread my less salt theory to the happily less developed country. Maybe I’ll never do that again.
Fast forward to yesterday. 2013 and the year or the chicken salad. The chicken salad I’ve spent a few paragraphs trying to turn into a metaphor for my marriage to this boy. (Yes, he’s mostly a boy. Just like some puppies are always mostly puppies). I now love cooking. I dream of doing it for a living, or something like that. It’s a little bit of his fault.
Which brings me right back to the salad. That chicken salad is nothing to make. I start with nothing and slowly as I add more of this and that, it became something. Something he really loved even though it’s nothing at all. It’s leaves, fungi and chicken, COME ON. What I’m trying to say is that it’s ALL about the chicken salad.
It’s exactly like last week when I was in the middle of my flu, looking like shit, playing Yahtzee with him and he stops and says: “You’re beautiful.” Whoa. No alcohol was involved.
We’re not striving for a perfect marriage. I admit I’m very shallow at times and expect fairy tales and storybooks to come alive every time our eyes meet. Nope. Not going to happen. What I want our marriage to be is chicken salad. Any salad. Boring when you see it separately but when it’s all in a bowl, I’ll hear that line I never get tired of:
“Salad was good, bb.”
(*I’ve made him a lot (A LOT) of salads in 2012. Always to take to work for lunch. That’s the one thing I can remember so vividly about this past year.)