My husband Michael turned thirty-five at the beginning of June, and he wanted to celebrate his birthday at the country house, without any pomp or restaurants. Just family, a long table under the tree, and proper homemade food. I cooked for almost two days. Outside, there was a cauldron of pilaf, I had pre-marinated grape leaves for dolma, made a few appetizers, and baked a large cake. I wanted the guests to feel that everything was handmade, not ordered.
Among the guests was Michael’s older brother, David. He’s the type who thinks he’s an expert at everything. This time he arrived almost without a gift, but with the look of someone about to inspect. We set the table outside. The air smelled of spices and roasted meat. Guests smiled, congratulated Michael, and raised their glasses. But David sat as if it were his party. He was the first to reach for the pilaf, poked at the rice with his fork for a long time, and held a piece of meat up to the light.
— Michael, you call this pilaf? — he said loudly. — The rice is overcooked, the meat is dry. Who cooked this?
— Emma cooked it, — my husband replied calmly. — I like it.
David spent the whole evening complaining about the food and even sympathized with Michael “for having such a terrible wife.”
When the dolma was served, he unfolded a leaf on his plate and shook his head. — The leaves are sour. You have to soak them properly. The filling is too dense. You rarely find a woman who really knows how to cook.
When I brought the cake, David took a bite and pushed the plate away. — The cream is heavy. The layers aren’t crisp. Michael, you’re unlucky. A wife should cook so that guests are silent with pleasure, not out of politeness.
At that moment, my patience snapped. I stood up, went to David, and calmly took his plate:
— What are you doing? — he asked, confused.
— I’m taking care of you, — I replied. — You’ve suffered all evening. The pilaf is bad, the dolma is wrong, the cake is heavy. I can’t let you eat something that doesn’t meet your standards.
David left without getting anything back. Since then, he either comes full or eats quietly.
