The Junction
Published in

The Junction

Conversation with My Wife (92)

What a friend we have in cheeses -or- Sweet dreams are made of cheese / Who am I to dis a brie?

Opus 40 in Saugerties, NY. Photo by author. I’ve been here with my wife and I think it’s kinda cool and I cannot come up with a suitable photo to match this topic so here ya go! (Hopefully you think it’s kinda cool, too.)

So I’m at home, minding my own business, when my wife turns to me and says:

DEB: Y’know, Jackster, when I think about it, you’ve really only done two things wrong in our marriage.

Only two? Or only two of a major nature? I’m betting it’s the second.

ME: (giving Deb an inquiring look)

DEB: Okay, so there was the packing thing, comparing me to Linda.

Yep, it’s category #2.

DEB: And then the time you said my mom always knew when your sugars were low, even when I didn’t.

Okay, yes, strictly speaking that is correct, I did mention many years ago that Mom was better at noticing when my blood sugar was running low. What I SHOULD have said was that Mom tended to fuss more when she thought my blood sugars were low, whereas Deb does something to fix the problem.

In my defense, my sugars might have been low when I made that statement.*

DEB: But on the plus side, you’ve never done anything like compare my cooking to your mother’s, or anything awful like that.

Uhhhh… My mother was a wonderful cook, in the same sense that everyone’s mother is a wonderful cook, right? At least when you’re a kid. Then you get older, go out into the world, and you notice things. Like, when people are dishing out spinach soufflé, they don’t ask if you want the soggy part or the crunchy part.** Like, crusts on pies that other people make have the same shade of brown on all sides. Like, vegetables don’t always cut with a spoon. Like, things taste better with cheese.

Okay, the cheese thing was not my mother’s fault.*** My father hated cheese, basically because his father hated cheese. So no cheese on vegetables, no quiche, no cheese & crackers, no toasted cheese sandwiches. So I grew up hating cheese. The crack in my worldview started when I was at a friend’s house and his mom served these hot gooey things for lunch. They tasted good, not like anything I’d had before; later I found I had eaten cheese sandwiches! OMG, OMG, OM… actually, those were pretty awesome. Hmmm.

Oh, and we still had pizza. Pizza was its own thing. Thick crust, thin crust, pepperoni, sausage… at some point I heard that an option for pizza was “extra cheese.” Wait, what?! There is CHEESE on pizza? No, no, no, my father told me, the stuff on pizza was mozzarella, not cheese. Oh!… Well, okay, then…

Anyway, my point is that comparing my mother’s cooking to my wife’s would be unfair to both parties.****

ME: So I’m doing okay, is what you’re saying?

DEB: You’re doing very well, Jackster. I think I’ll keep you.

*Mom would have noticed. <grin>

**The first time I was served soufflé out in the real world I had no idea what this light fluffy stuff was. Tasted good, though.

***And my mother grew up on a farm cooking for her father and older brothers, so fast & quick was how she learned to cook. Then once my father found something he liked, we tended to stick with it. Cooking experiments tended to be one-time-only things, not subject to review and improvement.

****And I LOVE cheese now, by the way.

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