By outward appearances, I inherited at least 90% of my dominant genes from my father. I have his eyes, his sister’s hair, his side of the family’s nose, his sense of humor, his temperament, his math skillz, and his ability to use a computer without having heart palpitations at the thought of attaching a document to an email (ahem. MOM.).
However, unbeknownst to many, my mother did pass along at least one skill to me.
Potato soups seem to generally come in two varieties. You can either have a triple bypass or a quadruple bypass/heart transplant combo deal. And a side of lifelong statin therapy.
You know, for what you’ll eventually have to go through if you eat them on a regular basis.
The.Boy and I have been together for exactly one year and one day now and though this past 365 days contained more hardship than either of us could have ever imagined, our relationship itself did not. I’m sure we could attribute this to many factors – we’re both fairly easygoing, family-oriented, good-natured folk – but at the end of the day, what (I’m convinced) it comes down to is that we’re also both pretty discriminating when it comes to our parmesan cheese.
And that trumps all.
To put things in perspective, The.Boy has exactly three items in his refrigerator at all times – grape jelly, ketchup, and what looks to be a container of fake shelf stable parmesan cheese. The latter of which, he proceeded to inform me the first time I ever stayed over at his place and he gave me a tour (which included a looksy into his fridge…he knew me too well even then), he purchased just because he liked the container although he promptly through out the contents and refilled it with some serious Parm-Reggiano. You know, the good real non-shelf stable stuff.
Birthday cake decision making is not the sort of thing that should be taken lately.
You only get one a year, after all. And it pretty much has to epitomize all that is right and good and amazing in this world. Each bite should be borderline orgasmic. No pressure.
After spending a weekend in perfect 65 degree weather,
running a perfect race (finishing time of 1:54:53!!!!),
eating perfect food (beignets beignets (and more) beignets!!!),
all with the perfect companion to do it all with…
Chili and I have had quite a few run-ins over the past year.
First-date-like encounters that leave you asking yourself, is this really the one? Or is it the one for right.now?
Welcome to Eats Well With Others, where we take a vegetable-and-cupcake laden approach to life (always with a bit of laughter on the side)!
