So I've been married about two and a half years now. It feels a lot shorter and longer at the same time. And, every so often, my mind wanders and I like to introspect about what I love most about being married.
There are truly many things. But increasingly one has steadily moved upward in my list of favourites.
It's not the crazy giggling fits.
It's not the secure knowledge that I have a partner through thick and thin.
It's not the stupid fights that surprise you and draw you closer simultaneously.
It's not the companionable silences or the intense competitiveness over the silliest of games.
It's not love, respect and blah blah.
The best thing for me about being married is when we eat. Specifically, when we eat Indian food. Because, you see, before marriage it was I who would always win the Indian food treasure hunt. Now that I cook a little I know better how the medley of whole spices adds to the complex flavour of desi cuisine. Before they were just a royal pain. There I would be, enjoying a sumptuous curry, chomping away in gastronomic delight, when my teeth and taste buds would be assaulted by an unwelcome bite of a clove. Or a cinnamon stick. Or my personal worst: cardamom.
Bleughhhh.
Really. Bleughhhhhh.
It seemed as though my serving of food would somehow capture EVERY. SINGLE. WHOLE. SPICE. in that dish. I think they even multiplied when I wasn't looking.
I think this is why divine intervention sent me the man who is now my husband. It wanted me to enjoy food again. 'Food without fear' must have been the slogan when it tried to fix my dilemma.
Because not only has he brought all the wonderful love, respect and blah blah to my life... but he wins the treasure hunt now. Every time. I'm a little more in love with him as I write this. Every occasional whole spice that errantly passes my way is one of those divine reminders to appreciate him. You know, just in case he does something stupid and I forget.
There are truly many things. But increasingly one has steadily moved upward in my list of favourites.
It's not the crazy giggling fits.
It's not the secure knowledge that I have a partner through thick and thin.
It's not the stupid fights that surprise you and draw you closer simultaneously.
It's not the companionable silences or the intense competitiveness over the silliest of games.
It's not love, respect and blah blah.
The best thing for me about being married is when we eat. Specifically, when we eat Indian food. Because, you see, before marriage it was I who would always win the Indian food treasure hunt. Now that I cook a little I know better how the medley of whole spices adds to the complex flavour of desi cuisine. Before they were just a royal pain. There I would be, enjoying a sumptuous curry, chomping away in gastronomic delight, when my teeth and taste buds would be assaulted by an unwelcome bite of a clove. Or a cinnamon stick. Or my personal worst: cardamom.
Bleughhhh.
Really. Bleughhhhhh.
It seemed as though my serving of food would somehow capture EVERY. SINGLE. WHOLE. SPICE. in that dish. I think they even multiplied when I wasn't looking.
I think this is why divine intervention sent me the man who is now my husband. It wanted me to enjoy food again. 'Food without fear' must have been the slogan when it tried to fix my dilemma.
Because not only has he brought all the wonderful love, respect and blah blah to my life... but he wins the treasure hunt now. Every time. I'm a little more in love with him as I write this. Every occasional whole spice that errantly passes my way is one of those divine reminders to appreciate him. You know, just in case he does something stupid and I forget.
Posts
No comments:
Post a Comment