No the title does not mean that my husband works for IBM. Nor does it have anything to do with any sort of irritable bowl issue. According to him, IBM stands for something else.
Italian By Marriage.
My husband is as white as a white boy can be, and I’m not talking about skin color. I mean his upbringing. Please don’t tell the rest of the world though, because I worry he will be tarred and feathered for being an American white male.
Raised in a small Indiana town with a mom who mostly cooked meat and potatoes for her four sons, he wasn’t exposed to much ethnicity. When we started dating, my mom would offer to “make him a plate,” and that’s when he became hooked by Italian food and passion. I think he’s more infatuated with the whole Italian way of life than he ever has been with me.
Ever since we met, he’s wanted to learn how to cook like Italians. So, when we first moved back to my hometown, mom gave him a lesson in making pasta. Over this past weekend, he decided to take it upon himself to make ravioli from scratch.
It’s a tedious chore to do alone, so I joined him in the kitchen.
We were surprised that we didn’t get into one argument through the entire process. He’s learned well (Padawan) and didn’t need my usual bossy instructions. I kept my mouth shut as we worked, and we got along great!
My mom brought over her homemade pasta sauce, meatballs, and fried pork tenderloin for a feast on Sunday. Just like the ones I remember growing up, except football used to be in the equation (written about in my short stories).
We told my husband that after making pasta from scratch twice now, he is no longer IBM. We have deemed him officially Italian.
Shh, don’t tell him we were just humoring him. He still hasn’t learned to speak loud and jump into the middle of heated discussions to actually become one of us. But, he has begun to use our Italian sign language.
What did you do over the weekend? Was it as flavorful as mine?