My Apologies to Julia Child

I can't cook. There. I said it.

I'm not sure why The Husband married me, but I do know why I married him.

I made him dinner for our first date. I thought I'd try something new and make deep-fried ravioli as an appetizer. My thinking was that the ravioli would cook in the hot oil and therefore it didn't need to be boiled first. So, in my infinite wisdom, I plopped raw, frozen ravioli into the oil and deep-fried it.

They looked lovely. Really! I arranged them all pretty on a plate with a small dish of marinara sauce for dipping. The Husband is all excited. He's a born-again bachelor and hasn't had a home-cooked meal in a while. He's really looking forward to this. "Looks great!" he exclaims, and digs right in.

To his credit, his expression didn't change much. He smiled and made the appropriate yummy noises while I watched him enjoy his ravioli. He was obviously making an effort to chew and this started to disturb me. So I had a bite.

It was horrible!

Each ravioli was hard and rubbery. Chewing was a chore and my jaw was aching before I finished the first bite.

I was mortified! Here I am trying to impress this guy and I've made the most inedible, tasteless dinner imaginable. I wanted to crawl under the table and die! I could feel my bottom lip start to tremble. My eyes began to well up with tears. Great! Now I'm going to make it worse and cry.

I jump up and grab the plate, apologizing profusely. "I'm throwing them out." But he laughs. "It's fine!" he says. He takes my hand, pulls the plate from it, sets it down in front of him and ... God bless this man! ... ate every one of those raviolis. "Got any more?" I think I fell in love with him right at that moment.

Our 7-year anniversary is coming up. We're planning to go out for a nice steak dinner.

"Or we could just stay home and have some deep-fried ravioli," he quips.