I have not discussed the hubby much on this blog, but since he cooked dinner for us Sunday night, it's high time he gets the accolades he deserves. Why is he magnificent? Well, besides really knowing how to bring the party wherever he goes, I completely admire his outlook on food. He is, hands down, the only guy I know who will literally devour a barbecued rib to the point of sucking marrow from the bone one day and then dive into tempeh and kale stir-fry with the same level of commitment and passion the next. I find this a highly attractive quality in a man (even if it's not always pretty to watch). Bless him, he's completely open-minded and totally laid back. He doesn't judge food; he just plain likes it in all its forms. Things don't horrify him because they were once living and breathing, he doesn't spit things out in napkins because the consistency is making him gag, and he doesn't get dizzy and faint when he has to make decisions in the grocery store. In short –– he's the yin to my yang.
Because he is so unfettered by food, he was able to use what I would consider a debilitating amount of heavy whipping cream in the pasta sauce he made for Sunday night's dinner. Trying to control my inner panic, I felt it best to leave the kitchen while he chopped, sautéed and boiled his way to a divine creamy pasta sauce chocked full of veggies and penne, with a pile of perfectly roasted broccoli on the side. Only the man who owns my heart understands the sadness I would have felt if he had masked our first batch of broccoli in the cream sauce. The broccoli, by the way, did not disappoint. It was bright, crisp and more fresh tasting than any we'd ever eaten. The kids even gave the 2-3 bite seal of approval, which speaks volumes. So, yes, dinner was superb, but more importantly, the hubby who cooked it proved himself my version of perfection once again.
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