Me vs. Fried Spicy Chicken Sandwiches

And the winner is . . . almost always the fried spicy chicken sandwich. Not that I'm the one eating them, but I usually lose this battle when it comes to Gas Monkey (another reason why he is so gassy).

Ever since I've been home, I've become overly concerned with what we are eating. Let me correct that, with what Gas Monkey has been eating. I am young and have a whole life to reverse the negative effects of my eating habits. Gas Monkey, on the other hand, is almost 30, which means his life is theoretically half-way over (though I will be optimistic and declare my man will live into his nineties, if he starts taking care of his heart, which he still persists to ignore).

Since I came home from Utah, I have been relishing the ability to actually cook. And since I am still unemployed (we'll get to that another day), and most days practically despondent with the whole sick-of-being-home sickness, the highlight of my day, or more like the purpose of my existence, from the moment I get up until the time to do dishes, is to plan and execute a night's dinner. The ultimate goal is to enjoy a good meal and provide leftovers for Gas Monkey to eat at work, so he does not end up buying three spicy fried chicken sandwiches which make him gassy. I usually spend about 2 hours actually physically making dinner . . . from scratch. No mixes, no shortcuts for me. I have nothing better to do than waste hours of my life making homemade pasta that Gas Monkey appreciates briefly and then goes on to recollect his grandma's amazing homemade pasta (translation: my pasta is almost as good as Grandma's).

I cook dinner almost every night. For example, this past month I have made chili, homemade meatballs with homemade pasta and homemade french bread (an all day ordeal), stuffed peppers, lemon chicken, pumpkin cookies (not for dinner), falafel from scratch, pork tenderloin, and his favorite, tequila-lime chicken. And I made my first successful batch of homemade white bread without using my bread machine. Take that. Still, after all my gourmet dinners, the boy chooses to eat spicy fried chicken sandwiches. Why?

Another issue I take with Gas Monkey. He does not ever, and I mean ever, drink water. Water! He'll drink coffee in the morning, 100% sugar-free grapefruit juice (and he goes through a gallon every couple of days . . . gross) in the afternoons, and beer in the evening. So the new ritual. I make him drink a very large glass of water every night before bed. He does it, but he doesn't like it. And while he drinks it, I think to myself, "what a controlling b$tch I am." But it is good for him.

Being home has made me lose my sense of humour. But thank you Spanky Bottoms for working me down and get me out of the house. You don't know how much I need it.

So if you're ever wondering what restaurant or fast food place has the best fried chicken sandwiches (although he'll sometimes eat grilled ones to be "healthy"), ask Gas Monkey. He is a bona fide connoisseur.