Eating crow

I was pleasantly surprised by Josh's dinner last night. The meat was tender, and the baked potatoe was cooked perfectly... it was just moist enough that I didn't need to slather the thing in butter to make it edible.

I'm thinking I'll post some restaurant reviews in the coming weeks... mostly the Hampton Roads area of Virginia, but also a few places in the D.C. suburbs that I visit on weekends.

You say puh-tay-to, I say po-tah-toe....

I'm something of a control freak when it comes to food. The grocery store is my ultimate happy place, and I prefer to shop alone or with an equally dedicated partner... someone who can appreciate a good acorn squash, and doesn't mind that I spend hours reading labels and searching for locally grown produce. I was slightly offended when Josh tagged along last week, loading our basket with ramen and frozen pizzas... the food of a desperate man, not someone with a foodie girlfriend who shudders at the sodium content in the Souper Bowl that he was so taken with. I like things in a certain spot in the refrigerator or pantry, and I almost always have a very specific use in mind for each peach, pear and plum.

You can imagine how perplexed I am to be in the living room right now (the boyfriend's domain), tapping away at the keyboard while Josh does God knows what with my potatoes. I was planning to use them for homemade mashed potatoes, or to serve them herb-roasted with chicken. He's been making noises about turning my virgin vegetables into the buttery mess that is a baked potatoe.

Don't get me wrong - I like baked potatoes. These, however, are MY potatoes.

I have issues.