Seventeen long years of trial and error. Burnt pots and pans, melted tea kettles and failed attempts. Such have given way to a smattering of successes ultimately leading to some pretty darn good meals. I would venture to say now that Sean and I are well-versed in the kitchen; not ready for Gordon Ramsey's Master Chef competition, but we can hold our own at the stove. Some of our food is even musical, a harmony of instrumental ingredients blending together to complete the perfect melody of flavors. We share in responsibility, shop together, make mutual decisions, touch upon a bunch of nationalities, and compromise when we don't agree. We like to see to it that our testy little taste buds are all satisfied with sweet and salty, sour and spicy, rich with textures and tenderness. Even the kids have grown accustomed to our varieties of seafood, meats and veggie entrees, and as a result, there are very few menu disputes among the four of us.
Now when Saint Sean and I were new parents, he took on the "Mr. Mom" role, staying home with our kids, taking them to school, playing with them at the park, and having dinner ready for me when I came home. One could believe that it was during these formative years that I developed a strain of acid reflux. Not the kind you read about that is brought on by chocolate, coffee and fatty foods. No. Mine was brought on by the horrendous smell of freeze dried parsley, the kind that came in a gallon-sized jug from the .99 cents store. The kind that makes you,well, gag! He used it in everything until I put the kibosh on that one, throwing it out when he wasn't looking. And I'm sure he has a few dirty little secrets about my culinary mishaps along the way as well. It's inevitable.
So one day, Sean decided to make something from his unchristened Irish cookbook, the one that my mom lovingly bought him, the one that he used to read like the bible and never quite put into prayer. On this night, he thought, maybe a stew would be a start. Yeah, because this Italian tomato he's married to would love to come home to a new variety of potatoes seasoned to perfection and chased with a Guinness! Why not? I'm easy. I can compromise.
Poor Sean. Poor Us.
That day, he went out and purchased everything on the list of ingredients: chicken broth, celery, carrots, potatoes, and the seasonings we didn't have. He purchased everything except for the sausage because there were, what appeared to be, a couple of good-sized links in the freezer wrapped in foil. (At that time, my mom visited us once-a-month and stocked our kitchen with everything from cereal and canned soups, to meats and frozen store-brand spinach. Always looking to save us a few bucks. Thanks Rose.) So Sean took out the foiled items and let them defrost on the counter.
Upon cutting up all the veggies, peeling and dicing the potatoes, pouring the College Inn, and seasoning up the casserole in the white Corelle baking dish, Sean finally decided to unwrap the foil thereby discovering that it was not, in fact, the good Italian sausage from Sorrento's, but four rubbery hot dogs from Shop Rite. Given our financial situation, Sean figured, I'm sure, that it would be a shame to discard this food, so he proceeded as planned to make the Irish stew, hot dogs and all.
It would have made a great episode for Candid Camera. Our expressions alone were award-winning. As Sean, brought the bowls to the table, with his green plaid dish towel draped over his forearm, we each looked at one another, Sam at me, Liam at Sam, our eyes shifting from the bowls to each another. I could read Sam's mind. I could hear her plea. "Good God, don't make me eat this!" And Liam, well, he just looked confused. "What are those little rubbery red things, Mommy, the ones cut up into pieces? They look like penises." Okay, he didn't say that, but I did.
For a while there was whole lot of clink, clink, clanging of cutlery hitting the sides of the bowls. It takes a village. At the drop of his fork, and the shake of his head, Sean thankfully confessed, "I can't eat this."
Here's my take on that day, and on the days and years that followed. Perfection doesn't lead to growth. Rather, it is in the risks we take and the challenges we conquer that we find our success. Sean's Hot Dog Stew was far from edible, but it remains symbolic in the deep cuts of our memories. The first of many reasons why our marriage of flavors has led to a recipe for love.
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