It’s no secret that the way to a man’s heart is through his stomach. This old saying is particularly true in my husband’s case. Cinnamon-flavored candies, cheeseburgers and chocolate shakes are all that is necessary to bring him happiness.
In Iraq, this means that when the food is bad, he’s in a bad mood, and when the food is good, he’s in a good mood. Right now, the food is good. After six months of what he describes as Army “boiled-in-a-bag-food,” he’s now moved to a larger place, where burgers are served daily as an option — where he has options.
It’s funny how a little meal change can change your entire outlook on a deployment.
I’ll admit that this is not the only thing that’s changed with the move. He also has more free time, finally through with those 12-hour shifts, and has a different roommate. But what seems to brighten his days the most, despite the skin melting temperatures and winds that he compares to putting your face in front of a hair dryer, is the food. After 20 minutes of listening to him describe the lasagna, hot wings, omelets and ice cream bars, even I want a nice meal on the DFAC.
Unfortunately, I’m not much of a cook. I mean, next to “boiled-in-a-bag-food,” my spaghetti looks pretty impressive, but I’m not exactly Paula Dean in the kitchen. It also doesn’t help that I’ve been living primarily on frozen, low-calorie meals for the past several months in an attempt at dieting between packs of gummy worms and candy bars. That means as my cooking skills diminish, my husband’s expectations are rising. Looks like I’ll be pulling out the old cookbook for some practice before he gets home!
In Iraq, this means that when the food is bad, he’s in a bad mood, and when the food is good, he’s in a good mood. Right now, the food is good. After six months of what he describes as Army “boiled-in-a-bag-food,” he’s now moved to a larger place, where burgers are served daily as an option — where he has options.
It’s funny how a little meal change can change your entire outlook on a deployment.
I’ll admit that this is not the only thing that’s changed with the move. He also has more free time, finally through with those 12-hour shifts, and has a different roommate. But what seems to brighten his days the most, despite the skin melting temperatures and winds that he compares to putting your face in front of a hair dryer, is the food. After 20 minutes of listening to him describe the lasagna, hot wings, omelets and ice cream bars, even I want a nice meal on the DFAC.
Unfortunately, I’m not much of a cook. I mean, next to “boiled-in-a-bag-food,” my spaghetti looks pretty impressive, but I’m not exactly Paula Dean in the kitchen. It also doesn’t help that I’ve been living primarily on frozen, low-calorie meals for the past several months in an attempt at dieting between packs of gummy worms and candy bars. That means as my cooking skills diminish, my husband’s expectations are rising. Looks like I’ll be pulling out the old cookbook for some practice before he gets home!