It was a fairly uneventful Easter. Basically, we just took turns on the internet and messed around with our computers. I forgot to call my mother, though.

I am in deep shit, but it's too early to call her now, so I'll have to shovel my way out later.

I made a fairly nice, but simple dinner. Veal roast (a hit), asparagus (also well-loved), and lemon risotto, half of which was without cheese for my husband.

His verdict: "This tastes funny."

Bet he wishes he hadn't criticized my mashed potatoes now. Well, he didn't so much as criticize them as say "they taste funny."

Dilettante: But you always liked my mashed potatoes! You'd eat them and everything.

Elvis: When men are in love, they do funny things.

Dilettante: So, you're saying you're not in love NOW?

Elvis: No, no, no, no. I'm saying that we're married now, so I don't have to eat them anymore.

Dilettante: (eyes narrowed) I see.

Elvis: And I think European potatoes are different, anyway. They taste funny.

So, I haven't made them since. And since Italians don't seem to like baked potatoes much, it's extremely difficult to find potatoes of bakable size. Which means rice, since scalloped potatoes are also out, due to the creamy sauce. And I'll be damned if I eat plain steamed rice on Easter-- or, indeed, at any time when not accompanied by Creole, gumbo, or Chinese food. I don't like boring food.

My husband does, though.

My husband is picky.

Take cheese, for example. You might as well, because Elvis won't. If stranded on an Andean mountainside with a football team and a wheel of cheese, Elvis would be the first to prepare the barbeque. Hey, at least people are meat.

Actually, humans are supposed to taste like pork. Not that I'd know this from personal experience or anything, you understand.

Here is a partial list of other things Elvis won't eat:

Things with bits in them. Things with cream sauces. Things that look creamy without actually having cream in them. Anything with mayonnaise, or the appearance of mayonnaise. Eggplant. Tomatoes that are not cooked and/or not pureed into a smooth sauce. Jelly other than grape, and that only on peanut butter sandwiches. Eggs. Salad dressing. Salad. Yogurt. Clams, mussels and the like. Cereal with milk on it (although he will eat it dry). Rice krispie treats. Things he's never seen before. Chili con carne. Legumes. Cocktail sauce. (Although he will eat shrimp now. Before we were married, he wouldn't.)

And that's the thing: he used to be worse.

Every time we go back to visit, his mother is amazed. Elvis eats shrimp? Elvis eats lamb? Elvis eats Sushi? (Well, twice. He was very, very drunk.) Elvis eats pizza? (Without cheese. And only with ground beef topping that I make according to stringent specifications, ie. No bits.)

This is, not suprisingly, hard on a girl who eats everything bar chicken and green beans. Both of which Elvis loves. Although I will eat chicken, sometimes.

We have people over for dinner, or to parties. Invariably, someone will tell Elvis how wonderful the chili is, or the jambalaya. Which falls afoul of the "no bits" rule, by the way. Elvis admits he doesn't eat it. Never tasted it. Which stuns people, though after a while they start to understand.

And he feels bad about it, so I don't push. He knows how lucky he is to have a wife who's a good cook, even if he can't appreciate it. I try to look at it as a challenge.

So today, I'll be eating left-over risotto. Once I add some cheese, it will be fine. Elvis will have left-over veal in sandwiches. Or we'll go to the Happy Chinese, which is likely to be one of the very few places open today, as it's a holiday here.

Either way, I'm not cooking today. I'm just not up for rejection.