Dancing About . . . Gravy?

9/27/2012 2 Comments

The other night I made homemade mashed potatoes and corn while Kevin made the bratwurst. He slowly cooked them in a skillet in olive oil and chopped onions. When the brats were brown and crispy, he decided to make gravy in the same pan. After everything was cooked, the food on our plate, Kevin traipsed to the living room with his food loaded with gravy.

And then I heard a sound.

It wasn’t the TV.

It was a pleasurable sound conjuring an image of toes curling and eyes rolling to the back of one’s head.

What the–?

"Omigod! This is good gravy," Kevin said.

"It is good," I agreed, taking a bite of my mashed potatoes.

A grin broke across his face. "I think this is even better than the pheasant."

"Um, no. Your gravy is good, but a pheasant baked in cream sauce and potatoes is way better."

He shook his head. "I don’t think so."

"I do."

Kevin moved to the counter, still grinning. "I can’t believe how well this gravy came out. I think it’s the best I’ve ever had." He raised his fists in the air as if he were addressing heaven from above. "I’ve achieved greatness!" And then with his arms bent, elbows next to his side, he rotated his hips in a continuous motion, dancing in place.

I laughed. "You’re such a dork."

"It makes me happy," he said, "to discover how to make something so yummy."

"Yeah, I know." I smiled. "And you’re cute."

"You’re cuter than me."

"Nu-huh."

Yes, we’re disgustingly mushy towards each other.

Kevin grabbed a container to put the rest of the gravy in, saying he couldn’t wait for two hours to pass so he could eat some more (he has a blood sugar thing so he can’t eat a lot in one sitting, and he has to eat every two hours).

"Are you really going to eat the rest of that?" I asked. "Because every time we save gravy, I end up throwing it away."

He looked at me as if I lost my mind. "Hell yeah, I’m going to eat it."

A half hour later.

"Can you imagine if we opened an English restaurant and served bangers and mash with that gravy what people would say?" Kevin asked.

Forty minutes later.

We were sitting on our porch.

"I can’t believe how well that gravy came out," Kevin said.

The next day I left work and went home for lunch. Kevin greeted me at the door, grinning. "I had hotdogs in gravy for lunch."

He’s such a goof. A very cute one I might add. So now, in our family we have the happy gravy dance.