I love pizza, yogurt, tacos, coffee, onions, hot pepper, cumin and tomatoes. My husband likes pizza and can tolerate yogurt (in theory) everything else on the aforementioned list is nuclear waste to him: dangerous and garbage.
It’s really normal for people to have different palates and preferences when comes to taste (and smell, we all know the chazal), and I’m not complaining about that…what I am complaining about, well not complaining, but raising a point. Why do I, and most women cook for their husbands taste and not their own?
Yes, of course we want to please out husbands and make them happy. Keep them contented and full, but seriously, I can’t remember the last supper I made with me as top priority. I’d like kid myself that I am just that giving of a wife, but honestly I’m not.
Maybe, I suppose it’s easier to make sacrifices on your own part then expect someone else to do it for you. (Yes, food is a big sacrifice)
I mentioned this to my husband, he heard my point and encouraged me to make supper for myself, this very night.
“Tacos?” I suggested brightly.
“Whatever you want,” he chided.
I perked up, wow, this was beautiful martial giving at work, I knew I married a great guy! “I’m not gonna be home for supper tonight, R’s sheva brachos, remember.” He finished.
Maybe it’s really just that the old adage is right, “The way to a man’s heart is through his stomach” and deep down we instinctively know it’s true, and follow through accordingly.
Whatever the psychology is, I’m having cereal and milk for supper tonight.