As background, you need to know that my husband used to be a terribly picky eater. When I married him he would not eat vegetables (except corn) or ANYTHING with tomato in it... except his best friend's mom's spaghetti sauce. He has since broadened his palette substantially, and has even learned to love to cook at lot of these things. He loves spices and seasonings and creating in the kitchen. I think its the scientist in him... I wonder what would happen if I added? He does almost all of the weekend cooking because he loves it so much (and who am I to complain about that).
Thursday, after lunch, I threw some spaghetti sauce together in the crock pot and put it on low so it would be ready for dinner. I had done my deal with it and left it alone.
Tim comes home from work and walks in the door and tells me it smells great. Right away he walks over and grabs a spoon for a little taste. I could tell from the look on his face that he had something in mind that could make my sauce "better". I told him he could add whatever he wanted as long as he didn't make it too spicy. He insisted that it was fine and I assured him that I wasn't insulted and walked away, fully knowing he would proceed to season. As always, he was unable to resist the urge to tinker.
A little while later I came back downstairs and myself sampled the sauce. To say the least, it was a little... um, off. Nothing I could imagine eating on top of a nice heaping pile of hot pasta. I'm not exactly sure how the next part of this conversation went, but it was something along the lines of me asking what he added to my spaghetti sauce and him replying with the words, "Spaghetti? I thought we were having chili for supper?"
Yes, my darling, tinkering, husband changed my Italian spaghetti sauce into a nice Southern Chili.
We won't discuss here the complete air headiness that this mistake involved... like the amount of sauce in the crock pot (not even close to 5 bowls of chili) and the fact that the menu was posted on the fridge and had been all week.
We don't normally eat parmesan cheese on our spaghetti, but after some re-tinkering of my own (and some hysterical laughing) I determined that it was going to be called for this evening and sent Tim to the store to get it as "punishment" while the noodles cooked.
In the end the spaghetti tasted just fine.
The slice of mile high cheesecake I found in the shopping bag also tasted good. I even shared a bite with the "chef".