When I married my first husband, being a pro chef, I was nervous about cooking for him. But he was really good. If I made something that was close to inedible, he would tell me where I went wrong. Otherwise he would eat anything I put in front of him.
My second husband thought I was some sort of angel sent to feed him. His first wife only cooked from the freezer. TV dinners, pot pies, etc. No wonder he loved eating in the mess hall. (He was in the service at the time.) He told me one day he hated powdered eggs. It just so happened that a neighbor gave me a bag, and I used it for all my coating recipes. You know, flour, egg, breadcrumbs. I never told, he never knew. Then one day I was wondering just what did powdered eggs taste like. So I made myself just enough scrambled eggs equal to one egg according to directions. I put butter on them and made them with milk instead of the water called for. Then hubby came in and thought I had made it for him. So I let him eat it. He thought it was wonderful. The next day I told him the truth. He changed his mind about powdered eggs.
Illegitimi non carborundum!
I don't want my last words to be, "I wish I had spent more time doing housework"