The good news My husband has adopted a low-fat, high-fiber diet.
The bad news My husband has adopted a low-fat, high-fiber diet.
As a man matures, he may develop interests in areas he’s previously balked at, teased you about or both. And this transformation, like a chef-grade, forged-steel kitchen knife, is double edged. Why, after 30 years of marriage and eating oodles of noodles, is my husband suddenly obsessed with chopping, grinding, peeling and sautéing? I think it stems from his last doctor visit, at which the internist put a scare into him about carbs, calories and cholesterol.
The result At 56, Mark has become a label-reading zealot. I once left him on his own in the canned-goods section while I went off to select produce, only to come back and find him lecturing a small crowd of eager females about the empty promises of “low fat” and “fat free.” Can this be the same guy who mocked my whole-wheat, high-fiber baking phase with “Oh no. Cookies made with twigs”?
Plus Since discovering the kitchen, he has judged it unacceptably lacking in amenities. When the stove died, he insisted on replacing it with a top-of-the-line behemoth. It’s his baby. Then he decided baby needed new pots and pans. (That set I’d been cooking with for decades? Something about “uneven heat.”)
I’m glad my husband is taking better care of himself. I must confess, the man can cook—and I can read a magazine while he chops and parboils, even if I do have to live through his postgame commentary (“I dunno, maybe next time less cumin?”). What does have me a little concerned: The other day I saw him eyeballing my glue gun after watching She’s Crafty. Who is this guy? And what has he done with my husband?
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