Hunnay, What’s for Dinner?

I’m a horrible cook. Well actually, not completely horrible, I’m just not someone who makes fantastic meals. I never really paid much attention to what I ate or how I ate before I got married. Even now being in my relationship with my husband, he is usually the one who reminds me or forces me to actually eat breakfast, lunch, and dinner. For me a solid breakfast consists of a large coffee and some crackers…maybe even a granola bar or two. “Babe, we have eggs you can easily boil some for your breakfast” or “Babe, we have protein powder…you can make a shake before you go to work,” these are usually the normal statements that Daryus says to me daily. Meh…I’m just not a big breakfast person. Unless it surrounds Denny’s – then I’m totally game.
When Daryus and I were first dating I’m pretty sure he was shocked and mayhaps a bit disgusted with how much fast food I consumed on a daily, weekly, and monthly basis. I couldn’t help it. I was a busy credential student and I was focused on just helping the kids of America. I know, I’m selfless. Anyway, there were times when I would try to make myself a nice meal, but it would always turn out completely shittay. For instance, this one night Daryus asked if I wanted him to come over and make me something to eat. I said, “No thanks. I’m planning on just making a tuna sandwich.” I decided to be fancy and add some boiled eggs to the tuna, but after becoming consumed with the latest episode of Jersey Shore I didn’t pay much attention to the boiling process and ended up undercooking them rather than over-cooking. It was a slimy mess to say the least and my tuna sandwich mix became uneatable. Daryus came over and saw my failed attempt of trying to make myself boiled eggs…he became the main cook after that night.
Once Daryus started going to his night classes in preparation for going to pharmacy school I decided to play the new role of the domestic husband and start making dinner for us both. The question was: What do I make? For anyone who knows my husband you know that the guy is a fantastic cook and baker. The dishes that he has made range from quite decadent to overall mini-masterpieces of consumable product. I mean…he has a food blog for crying out loud. He knows how to practically cook and bake anything, so you can see where I could be easily intimidated.
The fact that my husband eats everything (by ‘everything’ I mean chicken and pasta) that I cook and never bitches about eating these repetitive items day in and day out just shows how much he loves me. That’s really the only thing that I can cook and not completely screw it up. How do I garnish the chicken that I make each night? Salt and pepper. Yep…actually, I only put salt and pepper on mine. Daryus likes to drench his chicken breast or chicken thighs with bar-be-que sauce. The man loves his bar-be-que sauce. Last time we went to Costco he bought some lemon juice to marinade the chicken breasts that I cook. I thought that all I had to do was add the lemon juice to the pan with the already cooking chicken and the juices would suddenly make their way into the meat and I would have created a fantastic dish. That wasn’t the case. I even added some extra juice to Daryus’ piece so that he would know that I tried to marinade it, and even though he said, “tastes really good babe…yea I can totally taste the lemon,” I knew he was just saying it for my benefit. I had to add the extra pepper and salt to my dry piece. That’s how I knew he was being…nice.
Last weekend I also wanted to try to make him breakfast since he’s always the one making breakfast, allowing me to sleep in since I worked the previous night at the club. Daryus said that he would like me to make crepes. Automatically I told him I couldn’t do it. How do I even start? He brought up the recipe on his laptop and told me to just follow the steps. “Babe, does this look right?” “What do I use instead of butter?” “How much do I pour on the pan? “Do you use pam…do we even have pam?” Question after question I asked my husband to make sure that I didn’t completely screw up this breakfast for him and he consistently told me that I was doing fine. The first crepe turned out like a pancake. The second turned out a little better. By the last crepe I had become so confident with the pour and the amount of time I allowed the crepe to sit on the pan that I made him a little Mickey Mouse head. I was becoming cocky and I was proud of it.
With our first year anniversary right around the corner I would like to think that by July 3rd I will be able to make my husband a grand dinner with all the fine fixings and delicacies that his heart desires. I’d like to also think that the meal won’t surround chicken or pasta, but even if I can’t cook him a solid meal…I could always just order out from Bencotto in Little Italy and just throw away the containers. He would never have to know. Shhhhh it’ll be our little secret.

          {Apparently this is a fantastic marinade…if done correctly. Meh}

         {My world famous dish: Chicken with seasonal pepper & salt}

          {Delicious crepes and Mickey Mouse Crepe for one? Served}