Many, many years ago, shortly after my parent's marriage, my father made a huge mistake.
You see, my mother was not a great cook. She'd mastered some dishes, but wasn't the type of cook that my father had grown up with (his grandmothers, mother and sister were all excellent cooks). After a while, my father apparently got tired of eating the same dishes and made a request of my mother. "Honey," he said, "why don't you try experimenting with dinner tonight?"
It was March 17. They were in Boston. My mother dyed the rice green.
My father hasn't requested a creative meal since.