Tabbouleh

As per Andrew's request I made tabbouleh for dinner on Thursday. He wanted it. He said it was good. We bought bulgur and lemons when we last went shopping so that we could make it with all fresh ingredients.

It's pretty easy to make, but it has to sit for several hours, so I had to start making it around lunchtime in order for it to be ready when he got home from work.

I used the recipe that he selected, which called for cucumbers and tomatoes and green peppers (it was more along the lines of eetch, actually). I realize that he isn't terribly fond of any of those things, but he's the one who chose the meal, so I figured it would be alright.

When he came home I had already chopped up the vegetables and had mixed them in with the bulgur and was grating lemon peel to stir in. Now, lemons have a pretty strong lemony smell, if you ask me. It's pretty overpowering, which is why cleaning agents are often lemon-scented--so that you get rid of residual smells.

So here I was, absolutely drowning in the scent of fresh lemons, and Andrew says,

"I smell cucumbers. Did you use cucumbers? You didn't use cucumbers, did you?"

"I'm grating lemons, and you can smell the cucumbers?" I was pretty impressed.

"I hate cucumbers. I can smell them anywhere!"

"But lemons smell so much stronger than cucumbers..." I argued.

Apparently to Andrew, they don't.

I put dinner on the table: tabbouleh, pita bread, and fake foul (we had refried beans because I was too lazy to make my own foul). Andrew took a scoup of tabbouleh. He gagged.

"I don't even think I had a cucumber in that bite, but everything tastes like cucumber!" he whined.

I took a bite. "Actually," I said, "It's kind of a lemony-oniony taste."

He choked down the rest of what was on his plate, picking out the cucumbers and feeding them to Rachel. She didn't mind. She loves cucumbers. For his second helping, he had just pita and beans.

"Cucumbers taste like water and don't really smell like anything," I said.

"No, cucumbers taste like cucumbers and smell like cucumbers. It's disgusting," said Andrew.

"What does watermelon smell like?" He quizzed me. Andrew hates watermelon, too.

"Watermelon." I said.

"Good. See, watermelon has a smell. What does celery taste like?" Andrew hates celery, too.

"It's a little spicy. Like radishes only not as hot."

"Celery and radishes taste like dirt," he corrected. He hates radishes, too.

"What does dirt taste like?" I asked.

"Like celery, radishes, and beets," he said, "Among other things."

Dirt must come in a wide range of flavors because, in my opinion, beets and radishes don't taste anything alike. And believe me, I've had my share of beets and radishes, so I should know.

"Cucumbers really aren't that bad," I suggested.

"They offended my smelltaste," said Andrew.

"Your smelltaste?" I questioned, eyebrows raised.

"Yeah, it's kind of like the bodymindspirit, but for eating," he explained.

I suppose we should steer clear of cucumbers then, if they throw off his smelltaste. After all, to live a happy life your bodymind needs to be in tune, why not your smelltaste as well?