Wit Stop

When Your Wife Creates a New Dish, Watch Out When She Asks How You Like It

TEXT BY GENE PERRET ILLUSTRATION BY MAURICE LEWIS Not long ago, I read in this magazine how Arizzonaans convert cactus fruit into various confections. There's prickly pear jelly and syrup. Wine is made from the fruit of the saguaro and punch from flowers of the ocotillo. Various cactus fruits are transformed into gravies, porridges, breads, and countless other goodies.

I'm sure they're all delicious, but I marvel at the daring of those cooks who created the original recipes. I don't have that kind of courage.

As the husband in a good, loving marriage, there are four words that send chills down my matrimonial spine. They're not "I want a divorce"; "I'm having an affair"; or even "Guess what? I'm pregnant." Those all contain their own degrees of terror, of course. But the four words that are the most frightening are in response to my question, "What's for dinner?"

My wife says, "I'm trying something new."

Understand that my wife is an excellent cook. Most of her experimental recipes are delicious and welcomed into our dinner repertoire. However, Lee Trevino is an excellent golfer, but he has dropped a shot or two into the water. Barry Bonds is a powerful home run hitter, but he strikes out occasionally. Nancy Kerrigan is a fantastic skater, but every once in a while she does fall on her bottom.Which brings us back to the new recipe we are trying for dinner. The occasional culinary adventure that falls on the kitchen equivalent of its keester presents problems to a normally considerate spouse. Invariably, after the first or second bite, my wife asks, "Well, what do you think of it?"

There's no risk-free reply to that. Well, there are some, but none of them work. The kneejerk reaction to this question is to fake it. Lie about it. "I like it. It's very delicate and tasty. Mmmmm, good."

The problem is that this is normally very transparent. After all, women and men are different in many ways, but they both have taste buds. Also, this response is dishonest, cowardly - and dangerous. There's an outside chance she might believe you and serve the same meal to you again next week.

In the past, I have tried the unintelligible response. My mother taught me never to speak with my mouth full, but I'm sure she'd allow the exception if she realized that it was a marriage-saving tactical ploy.

"Well, what do you think of it?"

I answer, "Mmmph glooboff mmmmph, mmmph."

"Should we have it again?"

I say, "Mmmmm, narmmph gloomomph drmmph."

"Would you serve it to company?"

I ponder that momentarily then say, "Mmmmm, glomph fahmmmph drommmph."

My wife picks up the serving dish and spoon and says to me, "Would you like some more?"

"No," I say clearly and distinctly.

I've also attempted the ambiguous response.

"Well, what do you think of it?"

I chew and think, like those people on television cooking shows who taste the recipes. They take a mouthful and then act like they're trying to decide whether it's delectable or not. For them, it always is. I'm not that lucky.

I say, "It's different."

"Different from what?" my wife asks.

Different from real food, I think to myself, but don't dare say. "It's just different."

My wife persists. "Well, is it good different or bad different?"

I say, "I don't know what those terms mean."

My wife says, "Good differentent is, 'I love it and want a second helping.' Bad differentent is, 'Excuse me, but I'm going into the powder room to upchuck.' "

I stick with my cop-out. "But sometimes different is just different. Green is different from yellow, but is it a good different from yellow or a bad differentent from yellow?"

I purposely sely used green and yellow because they were not present in this particular dish. It was uniformly brownish-gray.

Tonight's concoction is one of the rare failures.

I decide that honesty will be the best policy. "Well, what do you think of it?"

I "umm" and "eruh" trying to buy time to couch a compassionate and benign way of saying, "I absolutely hate it."

"You absolutely hate it, don't you?" my wife asks.

"I wouldn't say that," I say.

"Well, then, what do you think of it?"

"Um, er, uh come to think of it, I would say that. In fact, I will say that. I absolutely hate it."

My wife says, "Thank goodness. I was afraid you might like it."

She scrapes what is left of it into a dish and gives it to the dog, who sniffs it and gives it to the cat.