Married Life: My First Ruined Dinner

Let me step back. While visiting Vancouver on our honeymoon, the fella and I had several natives refer us to the restaurant The Foundation (including one recommendation from the friendly, talented, and soon-to-be-blogged-about Felicia of Sweetgeorgia Yarns). We were in the neighborhood, so we gave it a shot. I had the best meal of the whole trip there:



This is not the dinner I ruined.

This is a black beans, rice, and mango concoction with some of the best salsa I've ever tasted. Hearty, savory salsa with just the right kick.

Now, I'm from Texas. For me to compliment Canadian salsa is huge. I asked the waiter, a long-haired dude in an Iron Maiden t-shirt, what made the salsa so great. "Uh, what's in the salsa?" he asked the earth-mother type dumping tortilla chips into baskets behind the nearby counter. "Chipotle," she called.

"Chipotle," he told me.

The fella and I exchanged a look. But you don't get it, I was about to tell him. Between us, we have eaten Tex-Mex on multiple continents. What is it about this salsa?

"Special chipotle," Earth Mother supplied from behind the counter.

He looked back at us with a grin and a nod. "Extra-special chipotle."

Whatever. It was damn good.

I attempted to recreate the meal just the other night with some local Texas ingredients... and... I screwed it up. It was the beans, they should have soaked longer, I admit that now. This is not a cooking blog. "I'm a doctor, Jim, not an iron chef!" Truth is, I'm only sort of good in the kitchen.

"Darlin'," I said to the fella when I realized that it was 9:45 p.m., two weeks from the day we first wed, and there was nothing to eat. "I've ruined dinner."

"That didn't take long," he said, and promptly took us out to Sonic.

He really is very sweet.