If you’ve been reading my blog for a long time you would recognize the strange purple pasta above. No I didn’t make it, my beloved husband Butootee made it one day and tried to convince me to eat it. When I wouldn’t he was moping and hurt. I couldn’t eat it magdar (post).
The problem with my Butootee is that he thinks he is a chef. He might have a great taste in food but the concoctions he makes is just too weird yet rarely happen (thank god). For example the below “dish” from this a previous (post).
Then last month, for some reason, he comes home from the Co-Op with this catastrophe…
When I saw the jar of raw vine leaves my mouth dropped open in shock… 2al 2eeh? Mishtehe waraq 3enab (vine leaves) and he wants me, ME… yes ME to make it for him.
I tried to explain to him that waraq 3enab is NOT an easy dish to make and definitely not my style of cooking at all. First you need a hell of a mix. Second you need to spend HOURS wrapped the bloody leaves right. Then you need it to cook forever on the stove and then MAYBE you will get it right! So he goes ‘Show me how to wrap it and make me the mix and I will do it.’ Yeah right. Translation: I will put whatever I feel is like in a bowl of rice, nutmeg cumin rosemary ele oho… get the first one wrapped up in the worst way ever, then come nagging on your head to do it. Stand over my head in the 1 metre by 50 cm of my kitchen and yell and nag and make a huge mess of the place while I wrap those one by one.
Ain’t gonna happen. Period. The Jar has been sitting there for one month. By sheer coincedence while we were fighting over the presence of the jar I heard a knock on my apartment door and a plate of mama’s waraq 3enab appeared out of no where! He ate it all, yet still INSISTS on making me make him some. Every single day he reminds me.
The story is not over noooo… you see today he took a while to get home. I was getting worried but he told me he was going to the Co-Op to buy some supplies. He comes home with a zaatar baguette for me, two bottles of Apollinaris apple spritzer that I adore. and this catastrophe…
YA LAHWE! Appearantly there is this bloody Maggie ad that appears on TV where they put chicken pieces inside a bag and sauce provided in this new sachet and bake them then a lucsious juicy white piece of chicken appears, ready to be devoured.
Am I supposed to cook mutated fowl carcasses in my oven? He says he will cook them. Well, am I supposed to come home to the smell of baking chicken which makes me sick? Watch plates and oven dirty with burned chicken? Will those RAW chicken pieces be sitting in MY FRIDGE! Isn’t it bad enough that we have smoked turkey slices in there?
What am I supposed to do with this man? What on earth is wrong with getting a chicken from naif, eating in its plastic Styrofoam box, and disposing of it neatly BEFORE I came home from work?
O he is hinting that I should post about the maggie chicken baking experience. Well excused me! I am NOT baking that chicken, not with a million KD.