It's Tuesday, and at Black and Gray, that means step into the booth. Share your confession. To ease any uncertainity you might have, as your gracious host, I'll go first: I'm a wannabe foodie. The operative word here is 'wannabe.' Mister argues a real foodie actually cooks (I think about cooking), has a discriminating palate and knowledge of a variety of foods and flavors. Me, he says, I just like to eat.
He sounds like a snob, huh? He is, but he's my lovely personal snobbish cook so I suffer the insult. He feeds me pretty freakin' well, let me tell you. Mister likes his kitchen gadgets, and whenever he tells me about some new gadget he likes, I buy it for him. When baby gets a new gadget, I get another amazing meal. A win-win situation.
Back to me, the wannabe. Mister and I regularly grocery shop together. We are fortunate that we live in a neighborhood where diversity is no further than the corner. We have a favorite Chinese grocer within a block and a short walk downtown, there's a middle eastern store that carries foods representative of Egypt, India, Syria (moment to express my concern and prayers for the people of Syria) and a host of other smaller nations.
Last week, we're downtown getting items for dinner, and I was eyeing the many jars and cans of wonder when I was compelled to pick up a can of fava beans. Now I've been wanting to try this legume forever. Like a child with a newfound treasure, I ran up to Mister. He looked at me and said, “Baby, what are you going to do with fava beans?”
“I don't know. But...”
“Baby, exactly. You'll sit them on the shelf next to the bruschetta, fig spread, four bags of red lentils and the bulgar wheat.”
“I....” I stopped. Half stomped back to the shelf and put the beans where I found them.
Don't feel bad for me. I had a great chick pea, couscous and chard dinner. I forgot all about the favas I wasn't going to cook.
Your turn. What's your confession? Drop a link with Mr. Linky.