Last week I mentioned my attempt at a butternut squash pasta that didn’t really go over well with the family. Seriously, this was an epic fail.
My son ate it, but with every mouthful he made a face like I was asking him to eat dirt, all while semi-smiling and saying, “it’s good, Mom.”
That was the best reaction.
The worst was my daughter, who cried and cried, making horrible gagging noises whilst crying, sorta choked, and I was sure she threw up in her mouth.
My husband’s reaction was not much better. He ate two bites, then refused to eat anymore.
He had a face of composure, but he very quickly excused himself from the table, and made pizza for himself and my daughter.
Yeah. That happened. You’d think I fed them horse manure.
That took a big toll on my ego. Cooking is all new to me, and I really don’t like the thought of people hating my food.
I’m like a child that way.
- “Please be my friend?”
- “Please like me?”
- “Why don’t you like me?”
Now replace ‘my friend’ and ‘me’ with ‘my cooking’.
It wasn’t even ‘disliked’ – the squash pasta had the ability to clear the table and leave everyone in misery.
I had to practice meditating and mindfulness in order not to blow a gasket, or run away in tears. Those deep breathing exercises came in handy.
I felt awful.
It’s Not Me, It’s You
But then something wonderful happened.
I made two realizations.
One, I realized I cooked something that the family didn’t like, and the world didn’t end.
And two, I realized I loved squash pasta. Better yet, I now had two extra helpings at my disposal.
Since discovering this new love, I’ve made this meal two more times. I refrigerate it in individual sized portions so that I have a meal whenever I want.
And I don’t have to worry about anyone else eating it. It’s really really really really, I can’t emphasize that enough, good.
Secretly, I’m on a new mission to discover more meals that no one likes but me.
Ultimately, that’s the life lesson here. It doesn’t matter what anyone else thinks. If you love it, you should have it.
Although, I still have to teach my family a lesson on common courtesy.
Because if I make another meal that the family dislikes (even if I dislike it as well), making gagging noises, and bursting into tears and resentment, is not really the best way to say ‘thank you for cooking dinner for me.’