My parents spent the past few days visiting, and I put a lot of thought into our menu before they arrived. Greg tends to brag to our families about my cooking, so I always worry people will be disappointed when they visit if I don’t live up to the hype. Cooking for my parents is a little bit of an extra challenge because they are pretty health conscious, especially my dad.
I had planned to make a sweet potato soup with spinach and sausage. Greg kindly offered to throw it together, and I warned him to only use half the amount of sausage the recipe called for. I knew my parents would frown on the sausage. But on the whole, I thought it was a pretty healthy recipe. Spinach and sweet potatoes are full of magical goodness, right?
As Greg ladled the soup into bowls, he frowned.
“I should have used all the sausage,” he said.
“No,” I said. “My parents would freak out if you used the full amount.”
We sat down to eat, and my mom dove right in. My dad stirred his a moment and then furrowed his brow.
“What is that?” he said, poking at an offensive morsel. “Sausage?”
I shot a look at Greg. See? Didn’t I tell you?
“Three pieces?” my dad asked. “Someone must think I really like sausage.”
I should note that these were bite-size pieces, not links. The rest of us offered to take the deadly meat off his hands. And we ate it, and lived to tell the tale, too.