I guess I can start to trace it back to the idea of generational cooking. My Grandma (Audrey) was a great cook. Most of my best memories of childhood revolve around her foods. Mostly desserts now that I think of it. But she was like the quintessential farm wife - good cook, warm, funny but firm.
That led to my own Mom letting us explore with food. We baked cookies and made cakes from the most random, weird recipes. As kids, we pored over recipe books picking out things to make.
But if I really had to nail down the point where food started becoming something of an obsession, I wouldn't pick my childhood. It, of course, led to a love of food and how it brings families together and the traditions behind that make me feel all warm and fuzzy. But it's not when I REALLY decided to take a bigger interest in more than the basics.
What did that was the Limey Bugger.
Jim and I had just moved in together. I wanted to impress him with my culinary prowess. I mean.. I was IN hospitality at school, I really wanted to wow him. Flipping through the channels, I heard a Martha-type say "Lime chicken". Hmm. I like limes. I like chicken. If we like lemon chicken, lime chicken can't be all that different, right?
Of course, this is when I was still cocky enough to think that I didn't need to know anything about flavour combinations or technique - how hard can lime chicken be?
Off I went. Bought limes. Bought frozen limeade (not even kidding). Bought boneless, skinless chicken breasts.
I took my ingredients home. I thawed the frozen limeade, added salt and pepper, tossed it with the chicken and marinated for a few hours. After a few hours in the mix, I removed the chicken, slit it open, stuffed it with lime wedges. Then I topped it with lime zest and poured some more limeade over it and baked.
As it cooked, I boiled up some noodles and tossed them with butter (budget meal.. I splurged on the limes and chicken) to serve on the side. Steam some broccoli and dinner was served.
Jim got home from work to a very proud partner - dinner was served on chipped china with a steaming side of anticipation.
Pucker. UP.
Thus, the legend of the Limey Bugger was born. And that was the night that I realized a few things:
1. Jim must love me. Because love would have been the only defense his tastebuds would have against the super lime.
2. I had the will to cook, but absolutely no know-how. And if I was going to feed us and spend money on good ingredients, I was going to damn well figure out how to make them delicious.
3. Next time I hear a Martha-type say "Lime" and "Chicken" in the same sentence, I should turn off the TV and pretend I never heard it.
4. Limey Bugger gives your husband YEARS of ammunition about you trying new creations in the kitchen. As in "You're trying WHAT?! Don't you remember the Limey Bastard?" Almost a decade later and this particular joke still hasn't lost that tart flavour.
Of course, the Limey Bugger wasn't my only culinary cock-up. However, the wallpaper-plaster-potatoes and the "Southwestern" meatloaf burgers didn't quite measure up to the grandiose absurdity of the lime chicken.
Dinner tonight? Take out. I know, I know. I deviated from the meal plan. But today was a shit day, it's raining, I got home late and I was generally pissy. Nothing like a little grease to appease my bad mood.
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