Wednesday, May 28, 2008


I'm going to end up needing a gastric bypass. And it's all my husband's fault.

It seems that living here has brought out the inner Emeril in him. All he does is cook, grill and create goodies for all to enjoy. I mean, he always cooked before. I've always been the lucky wife who had dinner waiting for her when she got home, usually because his work schedule allowed him to come home, nap, work out and start dinner. But now he's OUT OF CONTROL!

Maybe it's because we're more relaxed. Our day just stretches out here. We have time to sit in the patio and watch the sun go down. Have a little wine while he grills up the perfect steak. Enjoy the sunset while the shrimp is marinating in pesto sauce. Just sit and talk about our day. Find a new way to cook up that fresh fish he caught.

And he's not content with just feeding me. He cooks for the people at work, too. He's taken not only our leftovers, but ribs, black beans and rice, fried plantains of every variety. He's fattening everybody up in his radius. Maybe we can get a group rate on that bypass.

He's expressed, more than once, the desire to go to cooking school. I personally think he doesn't need to. He's doing enough damage without being formally trained. My goodness, just keep him out of the Food and Wine magazine stash!

Papi, as long as you love me when I'm fat, you can keep feeding me. There will just be more to love.......

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