Why I love my chef

Here are the reasons:

Unlike a mechanic, he has clean hands. No grime under his fingernails or tucked beneath nethermost regions. He comes home smelling like food, after being in an industrial restaurant kitchen for longer hours than I can stare at the computer...and still heads for the shower.

He cooks. Plain and simple. And likes to- even better. So the battle of the kitchen is not about him watching sports on the couch while I do all the cooking, but about who wants to cook lunch or dinner. This is rare for chefs because they usually hate cooking at home, but this one loves to cook for me. Maybe it's because I am a shamelss gourmand. I thought my own cooking was experimental but Easy Skanking Chef adds dimension to the adjective. Most times its a hit. At least once, I have had to secretly add my secret enhancer. It has to be secret... even though I will honestly say "it needs _____" I use the shortcut.

He does not believe in adding ketchup to cooked food unless it comes in the fast food variety. Even then, if it doesnt involve potatoes and oil or two buns, it stands alone.

He makes his own sauces from scratch. BBQ, and even ketchup... mmmmn.

His taste buds are both epicurean and simple. While he really enjoys eating out, he also appreciates a good home cooked hearty meal. Enter Jamaican classics: Oxtail and curried goat.

He delights in my oxtail...even for breakfast.

He cant cook rice. I am one up on him for this.

He cannot shape a good Jamaican fried dumpling (or Johnny Cake if you prefer). I am two up on his for this too.

He will do the dishes.

He will also tidy and clean house, mop and all. By now, you should know how I feel about the mop.

He allows me to get away with leaving the majority of the domestic work for him because he hates doing laundry that much and thinks that doing dishes and cleaning house is a fair trade off for not having to the laundry.

He listens to reason. OK.. breaking it down. Sometimes...it...is...a...painful...process...to...communicate...reason...to...him...but...if...I...am ...patient...which-I-am-often not...he...will...get...the...point...and...see...the...logic.

He doesn't let me have my own way all the time, but often does. Dude can pick his battles and so well most of the time. Gotta give him credit.

He actually makes time to have the relationship talks that men and woman wrangle over. He listens.

He learns from his mistakes. He is a keeper.

He has an open mind. Loves to travel. Wide-eyed wonderment of the world and everything and taste in it.

He supports me. I get the feeling that if I said I wanted to fly to the moon on a spaceshuttle, he'd be there to take the pictures.

He tells people he has waited 10 years to get me. Dude was pulling a major stealth move and zoned in at the right time for both of us.

He tolerates me. And I am a whole-lotta-woman. Opinionated. Stubborn. Annoying planning everything. Messy. Creative. Bubbly. Reclusive. Spontaneous. Mad.

He wants us to work. Full time. Long term. And he invests himself heavily to that end. He has to... I demand no less ;)

Alright... clearly food has taken up much of this post. But I did admit early on that I am in fact a shameless gourmand.