I am a former paratrooper and scuba diver, a combat vet. I worked for many years as a private investigator and have a couple of divorces to prove it. I have lived all over the world, mostly alone. I would eat to live and never made much of an attempt to refine my cooking skills or repertoire. When I decided to get married again I made several other important decisions: Stop being a PI and, start learning to really cook. Both are attempts at making this relationship work. It is said the way to a person's heart is through their stomach. As it happens, a good cook can unlock more than a heart - take those tricky clasps behind her back, for instance. Well, at least it's near her heart. I find cooking therapeutic on a variety of levels. I used to eat to live. I find more and more now I live to eat.
My cooking triumphs
People love my chicken and matzo ball soup. You don't eat or drink this soup... you allow it to melt in your mouth like the finest Belgian chocolate. The texture and flavor of the matzo balls is delicate and belies their humble origins. I am told it helps dramatically with colds and flu. It has been compared to a foot massage in front of a roaring fire while being slightly inebriated and recieving some kind of sexual gratification. It is that good.
My cooking tragedies
I made a chocolate cake w/some orange zest for my wife's last b-day. Made a coffee and chocolate butter icing and drizzled a chocolate granache over the whole thing. You would kill for some of this icing. It looked amazing. It smelled the way heaven would smell if heaven were made exclusively of chocolate and oranges and angels served you only espresso during your stay. And then we ate some. It was like a brick- a beautiful chocolate, orange, coffee brick. You know in fairy tales where the witch's house is (somewhat improbably) made of cakes and candy? Apparently I am the supplier of building materials for witch houses. We scraped the icing off and ate it on toast. Happy Birthday, Sweetheart.