For Butter or Worse

Every once in a while, Ja helps me in the kitchen. Actually, 'every once in a while' is a very generous statement. Extremely rare, would be more fitting. So, when he offered to cook a special meal with me, I nearly scared him with my wide eyes and shrieking 'yes!'

We then searched the internet for any yummy recipes that would quench whatever craving we might imagine. Finally, came up with a delicious-sounding cheese fondue, and excitedly wrote down all the ingredients. That Sunday, we traveled to three different stores finding everything we needed. And, very quickly, the excitement that we had had, turned into a shocked and sickening feeling as we saw that prices for all the ingredients. (Apparently, only the rich eat cheese fondue...one reason we had never tried it). But, I repeated to myself over and over again, 'this is a special 'date,'' (funny how dates change once children come into the picture).

After getting everything we needed, we came home and began our work,..I mean date. The baby did her usually screaming/fighting when I put her down, so our date was more like me trying to rock Sahara to sleep, and Ja in the kitchen making the fondue. Not exactly what I had in mind, but then again, something I am not unaccustomed to.

Sahara finally fell asleep, and when I made my way to the kitchen, found that Ja had just finished the fondue...funny how perfectly that timing worked out.

I went to grab the fondue bowl that someone had given us for our wedding gift. This was a bit more difficult, since we had never used the thing in the 3 1/2 years we have been married. But once I had found it, washed it, and it had been criticized by Ja, (he said it was little difficult eating a rich man's fondue out of a tiny bowl shaped like a hershey kiss), we poured the fondue in and made our way to the dining room.

"Ok, you have the first bite," he told me with a prideful voice.
I dipped my bread in and took a bite. The taste was unbearable. I looked up to see that he was watching my reaction. What was I going to say? The second time he cooks, and I hate it!? (he's cooked more than 2 times, but it sounds better that way).

"Well, it's certainly something," I croaked. He gave me a strange, quizzical look, that almost had a 'please tell me it's great' sort of feel to it, and snatched a piece of bread. After he had soaked it in the fondue, and the thought, 'you don't want to do that' briefly passed through my head, he took a bite.

"This is terrible!" he said, using one of the many words I would have chosen to describe it. All of a sudden, the price of the ingredients flashed in both of our minds.

"I know how to make it better," Ja told me, getting up from his chair. He walked purposely into the kitchen. After a few seconds, I heard the microwave ding. Out he came, and poured something into the pot.

"Butter. It makes everything better. Makes it more American tasting," he said confidently, mixing in what looked to be a whole stick of butter. I mentally added 75 cents to the cost of the fondue. In truth, it did not make it any better. And, after trying a small bite, I was done. Ja on the other ate a bit more, all the while telling me how disgusting it was, and how sick he was going to be. We ended up dumping most of it out in the garbage, and hearing how upset Ja's stomach was for the rest of the evening. So, much for the rich man's fondue.