Strange Expectations

Have you seen those date books that are being advertised? They look so fun. Date ideas for couples. One of the date ideas showed this cute couple cooking a romantic dinner together. I was INSPIRED!! Visions of fun were fairly dancing around in my brain.

Folks, do not fall for it.

Normally, I am a Get-Your-Butt-OUT- Of- My-Kitchen kind of gal, so this was a leap out of my comfort zone, for sure, but I embraced the challenge. As I explained the idea to Hubs, I ignored his eye rolls and forged ahead, certain my enthusiasm would be contagious. Always the indulging, loving spouse, he came around (or gave in to hush me up, whatever) and we kicked off our little "date" with some classic Sinatra.

We landed on a menu of homemade ravioli stuffed with lovely fresh spinach, mushrooms, and some of our own sausage. The gentle, yet savory, marinara would adorn the dish and a fresh loaf of homemade Italian bread would go to the side.The crowning jewel was a lovely lemon tart.

Hubs is a gentle man, a kind man. The tenderness he shows to infants and little critters is enough to cause the most jaded eye to soften with wetness.

Kind readers, I am telling you right now that this entire quest brought out his inner lumber jack. The horrors of the mutilated tomatoes and WHAT HE DID TO THOSE LEMONS are horrors that will haunt me forever.

Making the pasta itself went well, and we worked great as a team.....at first, stretching the dough out to beautiful 5 foot lengths. The beauty ended there. Some of it ended up in the ravioli press, some landed on the fridge (poor Bixby will likely never speak to me again!), on the windows, in my hair. It was clear after the manhandling of the dough that I needed to change the menu up a bit.

"Honey, lasagna roll-ups might be better, don"t you think?" I was peering at him hopefully. "Sure. Whatever you want. Sounds good," says he.

With them all filled and rolled and safely in the dish, the marinara was just about done. I am still puzzled by exactly what part of "You have to stir it constantly" got butchered in translation. Skipping ahead, I scraped the uncharred bits of marinara out of the pot and onto the lasagna rolls. Cheese hides a myriad of goofs. Two pounds seemed sufficient.

Surely the lemon tart would go smoother. As much as Hubs hovers in the kitchen when I bake, I erroneously ASSUMED he knew what zesting a lemon meant. Quite proud of his efforts, he brandished to bowl of butchered citrus guts and rind, a victorious smile on his handsome face. I mentally dialed God real quick and asked for patience and a softening of my spirit. "Great, honey. Thank you so much!" Believe you me, I blessed his heart many times silently. (If you are a southern gal, you know EXACTLY what that means!)

I refuse to even go into the Italian bread. The vigor with which he punched and battered that dough was a thing to behold. I did not have the heart to stop him.....it was clear that every single person at work, clear back to 1980, who had EVER caused him frustration and angst, was getting their just rewards. I am pretty sure that even the teacup poodle that used to pee in his sneakers from childhood got it, too.

It was a lovely supper. He and I, relaxed and comfy, with our grilled cheese, tomato soup, and brownies from last week.

Now I remember. There was a REASON I became a Get-Your-Butt-OUT-Of-My-Kitchen gal. #cuzi'mHapPy