- Anything green (except salad, and occasionally green beans)
- Vegetables, unless they are fried (squash, zucchini, etc.)
I'm betting he would challenge even the Pioneer Woman.
Although I'm sure she could cure him, because there ISN'T ONE DAMN THING SHE CAN'T DO.
If I have a specialty, I would have to say it's cornbread. I found a recipe a few years ago that I like and that worked, and I've stuck with it. I make it in an iron skillet, which I think is one of the keys.
I say it's my specialty because it's one of the things that Hubby has commented on. He even gave me the ultimate compliment once, saying to me IN FRONT OF HIS MOTHER, "You need to teach Mama how to make decent cornbread." Being the sweet lady she is, she didn't take offense and hate my guts, which is probably how I would have reacted if I had a daughter-in-law. Good thing THAT will never happen.
When I first started making this cornbread, I had the recipe memorized in short order, only I couldn't remember how many eggs. One or two. I could remember the one-half cup of flour, one-and-a-half cups of cornmeal, one-and-a-half cups of buttermilk (another secret to my cornbread), and one-fourth cup melted shortening, but I could never remember one egg or two. I had to go to the cookbook every single time.
One time I was grumbling about the fact that I couldn't remember the number of eggs in the cornbread recipe as I stomped across the living room to the bookshelf. Back then Hubby would actually ask what I was grumbling about. When I told him what I was looking for and that I had discovered upon looking up the recipe for the nine hundredth time that cornbread requires TWO eggs, he said to me, "Just like a woman's breasts."
Just like a man. But you know what? I've never, ever forgotten again the number of eggs required. Why was that little statement all it took, and the nine hundred trips to the bookshelf and looking up the recipe (because I also couldn't be expected to remember the page it was on, could I?) didn't work?
I enjoy making cornbread, because we never eat it all. The next morning I usually have a breakfast of buttermilk and cornbread. I got that from my father. And precious little else, I might add. Except for the worst whipping I ever got after church one Sunday and a scar right below my right eye. But that's blog fodder for another day.
I can't wait for breakfast.