I've a problem. A very large problem. It involves my beau (heck, let's just call him 'Beau') and his amazingly keen sense of taste.
I love to cook. I've been cooking ever since I was able to see the range top at Gramma's house. Those first few dishes I prepared weren't really the tastiest (nor made of edible things), but I persevered until I evolved into the Messiest Chef you'll ever have the misfortune of knowing.
My boyfriend, who happens to be one of the neatest (both nifty and clean) guy I know, isn't much of a chef. When we started dating, the weekend staples were mac&cheese, bologna sandwiches, and pancakes. Not quite a balanced meal. Whenever he came over to the farm, I'd whip up Thai, German, and seafood-inspired pizzas (which I grilled on my bullet-shaped smoker), couscous with all sorts of colorful goodies, home-butchered pheasant and rice casseroles, and many other delightful, healthy tucker that leaves one's mouth watering just reminiscing.
Then came the moving-in.
I soon came to the realization that all those weekend nights he spent at my place dining on buttermilk biscuits and grits and vegetable soup, he was really holding back his gag reflex. It's been a year now, and I've successfully sneaked in a big whopping zero servings of veggies.
This is where this blog entry comes in.
In the next month (starting tomorrow), I will attempt to puree, mash, disguise, and stuff as many vegetables and fruits I can into each and every meal I make. This is a great challenge, as he has the taste buds of.... well, someone who has really good taste buds. This is an ill-written blog, but I'm doing it in between his trips in and out of the room.
Updates will be posted as soon as I get the results.
Wish me luck.
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