Cooking

I knew when we got married that I would occasionally have to cook. I say occasionally, because my husband made it a point to show me that he was very proficient in that department. I naturally assumed that he would be the one to take on that responsibility more often than not. Apparently, I was wrong.
It has become very clear that I am the one to whom this responsibility mainly belongs too. I try my best, but sometimes things just don't come out the way I planned it to. For instance, today I attempted to fry some steaks that my hubby had bought from an Italian market in Hollywood. Sounds simple enough right? Wrong. Despite my best efforts, the steak was cooked on the outside and raw on the inside. They were too thick to cook in a pan. They were better off on an outdoor grill that I do not own presently. I ended up having to cut the steaks fajita style and smother them with a spicy mushroom sauce from last night. The best I could say about the dish was that it was edible.
I could tell that my husband was not impressed by my culinary improvisations. He had expected a thick juicy steak and got cut up bits instead. His disappointment depressed me. I sighed throughout the meal after which he would ask what was wrong and I would tell him. He would proceed to lie to me and tell me the food was great. It was when I was upstairs that he uttered his true emotions, "Damn it!"
When I ran downstairs and asked him what was wrong, he replied, "Nothing." He wouldn't tell me but I knew what it was. He spent a crap load of money on a steak that I mutilated. It didn't help that he had spent a whole lot of time on a show that netted him a whole $35.00 profit. It hadn't been a good night to say the least.
All he wanted was a good steak. Hopefully, the one in the oven will come out better.
My mother never told me about this, how a piece of well cooked meat sometimes makes or breaks a marriage.
My feelings about this can be summed up like this, "ARGHHHHHHHH!"