My husband is fairly open-minded when it comes to food. Like me, he enjoys trying new recipes, and he will usually at least take a bite of something that is unfamiliar.
The one exception has been soy. For some reason, I can never get him to try any dairy-like products that aren't actually dairy. I'll admit, some of them are kind of gross, but the soy ice cream isn't bad, and soy milk doesn't taste any worse than regular milk does.
Ever since I gave up dairy, cooking has been tough. We've constantly been looking for recipes that either called for no dairy or could be made in two separate dishes -- one lactose-laden, one not -- so that I could avoid the curse of the cow. I still eat dairy about once a week, but when it's not dairy day, meal planning can be a challenge. I've tried to get my husband to agree to make things with dairy-free milk and butter, but my soy-shy sweetheart has always refused.
On Saturday night, we were both hungry for chicken marsala, which we always have with mashed potatoes. It had been a busy day, and a busy week, so rather than messing with two versions of the same meal, I volunteered to cook, directed my husband to play with Stella and got to work, cooking the chicken in soy butter and adding soy butter and milk to the potatoes, all the while looking over my shoulder to make sure my secret ingredients went undetected.
As we sat down to dinner, I didn't say a word about the fact that this was a dairy-free meal, figuring I'd wait to see if he said anything before I confessed. I didn't feel good about my deception, but it was the only way I could get him to try the dairy-free products to which I have resigned myself. If he hated them, I told myself, I would never make him eat them again, but if he didn't, perhaps this would be the dawn of a new era in our kitchen.
I was nervous -- not only because I thought my husband might be upset but also because butter is part of what makes chicken marsala so good, and I was afraid our dinner would taste bad with a soy substitute. I took a bite -- and it was actually very good. I tried the potatoes, and they were good too. I could hardly tell the difference, so perhaps my husband would be fooled after all.
He was. He complimented me several times on the meal, even saying that I "always make the best chicken marsala." I beamed, and when our plates were clean, confessed what I'd done. His reply was completely predictable.
"I knew it."
Yeah, right. If he had had any idea, he would have asked as soon as he took one bite. But he insisted he'd had an inkling that something was up. I didn't believe him for a second, but I can't roll my eyes too much, because my little experiment proved a success. The next morning, my sweet husband made omelets for the two of us -- with soy milk.
Lesson learned: Never ask your husband to try something. Trick him into trying it and strong-arm him into admitting that it wasn't so bad after all.
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