My husband and I are polar opposites where food is concerned. The first year that we were dating he would not eat my cooking unless it was something he readily recognized. If I did anything new or exciting (read: anything I cooked) he would look at it with the 'who farted?' face and say "I'll just get some Taco Bell on the way home." I do not think he realized just how insulting that was, the fact that he would rather eat TACO...FRICKIN...BELL. The memory makes me want to stab his pillow...but I digress. Eventually he bought a house, and because he was too poor to afford a fast food alternative, the man started eating my cooking. What do you know? He liked it (most of it)!
Eventually (as I began to like him more) I started tailoring my style to suit his taste. I like to think the delta between us has to do with where we grew up. My husband is a small town mid-western boy with a palate for simple, All-American flavors. I was born and raised just outside a diverse south-eastern city which provided me with exposure to a wide range of food. More importantly, my neighbors directly across the street were and still are some of the most awesome Greek people ever. I spent many a mealtime at their table. (I will do an entire post on that at a later date. The wife shaped many of my attitudes about cooking and my passion for food.) Add to that the fact that my folks are from the deep south...deep....and you have a culinary cross section that sets the All-American flavor profile on fire...then gives it a wedgie for good measure.