There are many things that make me a superlative husband, but the primary one is the way my mother raised me. I have learned to be grateful.
Take the matter of food. Mother raised me to be very grateful for food. She had a number of specialties, one of which was poached eggs. Only recently have I learned what a real art poaching eggs is, and Mother was a past master. She would get a big pot of water boiling, then start a whirlpool inside it with a wooden spoon, crack the eggs, and plop them in. What came out were perfectly-formed poached eggs. If you think this is easy, give it a try. What you're likely to end up with is a kind of boiled egg confetti.
Unfortunately, as a child, I did not see what consummate artistry a poached egg represented. I saw a white lump with a half-molten yellow center, oozing water on my plate.
The other breakfast Mother made was oatmeal. Generally, I preferred oatmeal to poached eggs, but my heart did not soar on wings of joy in either case. Mother's method of cooking oatmeal was laissez-faire. She saved artistry for the poached eggs. She'd get the water boiling, dump in oatmeal, and when we got to the breakfast table, dip it out. The result was an al dente oatmeal plug with a core both gooey and resilient, like the firmest possible wad of mucous, just before it begins to dry out.
She made beef burgundy, as well. Stew beef, cooked in a skillet and then doused with burgundy to form a distinctively purple gravy and served on noodles. Her beef stroganoff was similar, but with sour cream instead of burgundy. Once, I believe, she may have attempted beef stroganoff-burgundy, but I cannot swear to this.
Other than that, the typical meal in the Martin household was a hamburger patty, cottage cheese, applesauce, and canned spinach. On special occasions Mother would open up a can of asparagus and dollop on mayonnaise, swearing it was extremely gourmet. I was a grown man before I could bear to look a stalk of asparagus in the face.
Other than that, the typical meal in the Martin household was a hamburger patty, cottage cheese, applesauce, and canned spinach. On special occasions Mother would open up a can of asparagus and dollop on mayonnaise, swearing it was extremely gourmet. I was a grown man before I could bear to look a stalk of asparagus in the face.
She wanted us to be adventurous eaters, and would sometimes bring home special gourmet treats, saying "Open your mouth and close your eyes, and I will give you a big surprise." We'd close our eyes and she'd pop something in our mouths. It might be chocolate covered cherries, it might be smoked squid. You never knew what you'd get and that was half the adventure.
This is just one of the things that make me such a wonderful husband.
When we'd been married only a week, Nancy spoke to me sharply, "You don't have to say 'mmm' after every bite!"
I think she thought I was being obsequious, or even sarcastic, but that wasn't it at all. I was just grateful. More than grateful, I was in awe. One night we'd had meatloaf. Then we'd had macaroni and cheese. Then pork chops. Then baked chicken. It seemed as if wonders would never cease with this woman.
I did not say "mmm" after the next forkful, but I had to vocalize my delight in some way, so I went "Beep-beep!" After the next bite, I went, "Zoom!" then "Cock-a-doodle-doo!"
At any rate, as you can see I am a superlative husband. Nancy is a lucky, lucky woman.
