My husband is of Italian descent and that means, for him, food is love. I am a Heinz-57 conglomeration and that means, for me, food is sustenance. So every holiday we have a little tango about the appropriate menu, which I (who makes outstanding reservations and not much else) would have to cook.
Keep in mind that there are just the two of us. The offspring are elsewhere along with other mandatory guests. There are no small turkeys, hams, or prime ribs cut for two.
I almost escaped the Thanksgiving plight because my sister and her husband were staying in town and offered to host us. Then all was lost when she came down with some intestinal thing and called it off the Monday prior. This meant I would still have time to make a reservation somewhere; except that both my spouse and I started nasty colds, and I don’t believe in sharing the wealth. Instead I bought a turkey breast built for eight and made a pie, cranberry sauce, mashed potatoes, sweet potatoes and something green for just the two of us. PHEW!
Before dessert was even served on Turkey Day, my pernicious partner noted that he’d like ham for Christmas. Meaning he’d like me to cook a ham for Christmas dinner. Keep in mind that he is retired, his schedule is VERY relaxed and that he can cook as well as I can. BUT, refer to the first paragraph and that will explain my predicament.
On the 22nd of December, we picked up a ham, becoming the definition of eternity (a ham and two people), planning to cook it for the Yuletide repast. He nabbed my requested salmon for Christmas Eve dinner but it ended up that it was a yucky rainy stay indoors and do just about nothing (but laundry) day and I never bothered to cook.
My bright idea Christmas morning was that we would have the salmon for our feast and save the ham for another time since it would keep without any problem thanks to all the nitrates.
He measured each word, “There is no Christmas Salmon.” And the expression on his face at my sensible suggestion would have made Medusa’s hair silky. I realized it is the same look I gave him when he tried to wear black socks with his shorts. I jovially acquiesced, as is required for marital bliss and cooked the ham. I will hide his black socks come spring.