Buttering The Truth

, , , , , , | Related | November 23, 2018

(Due to a series of misfortunes, my brother-in-law lives in my basement for a time. When it comes to the fridge, we have an open-fridge policy since we each buy for the other every so often. I take care of the cooking, as the best cook in the house, and his diet generally follows three rules. First, no butter. When he was very young, he went out for pancakes with his mother, and they dolloped the butter on top with a scooper. He thought it was ice cream and ate the whole thing. Obviously he got sick, and has since sworn off butter. Second, no livestock or poultry. Around the time I started dating his sister, he had already developed a bit of a belly. His solution was exercise and pescetarianism, and to his credit, it worked. Third, no garlic. I don’t if there’s a story behind that one. So, in the time I have to cook for him, I follow this diet for him. However, it turns out these rules aren’t as simple or finite as I thought. While I do most of the cooking, my wife isn’t shy around the kitchen or the barbecue. When she finds her brother eating prepackaged, frozen salmon burgers, she decides to try making some herself. They are one of her best dishes. One day while I’m out with some friends at a baseball game, she invites her friends over for dinner. As it’s summer, she fires up the barbecue for summer staples, and chooses to include her salmon burgers. When her friends leave, she still has a few salmon burgers left. She gives them to her brother, who finishes them off just as I come home.)

Brother-In-Law: “Those were great! Best salmon burgers you’ve made yet! Did you do something different?”

Wife: “No. Same recipe.”

(Hours later, as we’re getting ready for bed, she bolts up.)

Wife: “Oh, s***! I put garlic in the salmon burgers! I always made his without!”

(Given that he’s never yet complained, she continues making them with garlic. And we still haven’t told him. One night, my wife and some of her friends from work go out to an Italian restaurant. I don’t remember precisely what she got, but I remember it was a pasta dish that was loaded with garlic. I remember this, because after just two hours of storing the leftovers in the fridge, the only smell emanating from it is garlic. The following day, I open the fridge to reheat her dish for her while I’m making my lunch, and can’t find the box. At that time, [Brother-In-Law] walks up the stairs.)

Me: “Hey, [Brother-In-Law], did you see a box with pasta in the fridge?”

Brother-In-Law: “Yeah, I ate it last night.”

Me: “You ate it?”

Brother-In-Law: “Yeah. It was delicious.”

Me: “It had garlic in it.”

Brother-In-Law: “It did?”

Me: “What did you think was causing the smell in the fridge?”

Brother-In-Law: “What smell?”

Me: “Never mind.”

(Thankfully, my wife doesn’t care that it’s gone. On a cold night, I make some chicken soup. As my wife isn’t too hungry, two or three bowls of soup remain in the pot, so I throw it in a bowl and leave it in the fridge. Two nights later, it is cold enough for soup again, so I go in the fridge to reheat the soup. Once again, I can’t find it.)

Me: “[Brother-In-Law], you see a bowl of soup?”

Brother-In-Law: “The thing [Wife] made for me the other day?”

Me: “No. She made you a stir-fry on Monday that I threw away on Thursday. The soup has only been in here since Friday.”

Brother-In-Law: “Oh, I thought she made me soup.”

Me: “You ate the soup?”

Brother-In-Law: “Yeah! It was great!”

Me: “It was chicken soup!”

Brother-In-Law: *horrified* “I thought those things were broccoli.”

Me: “Broccoli? Was it green?”

Brother-In-Law: “No. I didn’t know what it was. I just felt it and knew it was different.”

Me: “So… broccoli?”

(My wife and I went apple picking last weekend, and brought home a few things besides apples. Curious to see if he’d like some of it, I make an English muffin.)

Me: “Hey, [Brother-In-Law], I want you to try this English muffin.”

Brother-In-Law: “What’s on it?”

Me: “Just try it.”

Brother-In-Law: *takes a bite, then devours it* “That was really good. What was that?”

Me: “It was an English muffin with apple butter.”

Brother-In-Law: “EW!” *begins spitting everywhere*

Me: “[Brother-In-Law], you just told me you liked it!”

Brother-In-Law: “It’s butter!”

Me: “No, it’s just apples and cider.”

Brother-In-Law: “It’s butter! It has ‘butter’ in the name!”

Me: “So does peanut butter, and I’ve seen you eat that.”

Brother-In-Law: “There’s no butter in peanut butter!”

Me: “There’s no butter in apple butter, either!”

Brother-In-Law: “It’s BUTTER!”

(I give up. He still won’t go near the apple butter. However, this story doesn’t end until the following Christmas, when I recount the story for my sister-in-law, this time opening on the fact that I thought he might like it since apple butter has no butter and has the same ingredients as apple sauce.)

Sister-In-Law: “Of course he wouldn’t eat that! It’s butter!”

(And I had the same conversation with her.)

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