They say the way to a man’s heart is through his stomach. Generally, my husband would agree with this sentiment. But what happens when things go terribly, terribly wrong on the path from his stomach to his heart?!?
My Valentine’s Day plans with hubby were turning out just like I’d hoped. We’d been slapped with a pretty significant snowfall and both been able to stay home for a couple of days–fires in the fireplace, sweatpants, lounging on the couch, and lots of togetherness topped off with plans for a romantic, home cooked dinner. I’d been at the grocery store earlier in the week and saw a vegetable I’d never seen before: SUNCHOKES. I was intrigued. They looked a little bit like raw ginger– kind of carbuncular and earthy looking, but with a thinner skin. The label said they had a nutty flavor and could be served raw, or prepared like a potato. I thought they might be a healthier swap for a starchy side dish to accompany our romantic meal.
Fast forward–The meal was delicious!! Excellent wine, butternut squash soup, steak with a red wine reduction, garlicy sautéed greens, and the roasted sunchokes.
Following cupcakes for dessert, we did what all old married couples do after a romantic Valentine’s Day dinner. We put on our pajamas and flopped on the couch to watch new episodes of House of Cards on Netflix (BTW…Season 2 looks really good so far)!!!
I ended up falling fast asleep. I woke up alone on the couch at 4:00am to the sound of my own stomach–it sounded like the creaking hull of an old wooden ship! Holy mackerel was it loud!!!
I went upstairs and climbed into the bed with my husband. And that’s when the real symphony began. At first is was like two humpback whales communicating with one another. My stomach would whine and creak and groan and then his would answer–back and forth, and back and forth. Then…well…to put it delicately…all that whining and creaking and groaning had to find an exit. As we lay there cracking up at ourselves and joking about how this would go down in history as the most romantic of all Valentine’s days, we contemplated what could have created this violent, prolonged, and LOUD gastrointestinal disruption.
A quick Google search at 5:00am while we were eating Tums like M&Ms revealed the culprit: THE SUNCHOKES…aka Jerusalem Artichokes…aka FARTICHOKES! Seriously, just do a quick search for “SUNCHOKES + GAS” and you’ll be reading and laughing for hours!
Certainly, you may all be thinking, “Miz Nattie! This is way too much information!!!” but I like to think that I’m providing a viable public service here. Now you’ll know better than to fall for the delicate packaging and misleading descriptions of the dreaded FARTICHOKE. Those little flatulence nuggets should come with a warning label. No Joke! So unless you want to turn your family and friends into human whoopee cushions, I emplore you to think twice. Whoever said revenge is a dish best served cold, certainly never served anyone roasted sunchokes!
Thank God, we both seem much better today and the fartichokes have released their grip. So perhaps the way to a man’s heart IS through his stomach, but the sign of true and lasting love is to endure the aftermath of sunchokes and still be able to look each other in the eyes come daybreak!