Here is what I know about my husband Eric’s eating habits.
When he was little, he had a phase of six years in which he was not enthused about meat. Over the course of his four high school years, he ate his body weight in Totino’s pizza rolls. Now, he is just about the easiest person to cook for, having only turned his nose up at one meal in seven years together – my first attempt at roasting a chicken. I didn’t eat it either.
And while he’ll eat just about anything happily, it’s not often that he craves things. Especially dessert. Whereas, I have literally woken him up to tell him how desperately I needed one of those ham & gruyere croissants from the cupcake shop up the block. (Let’s blame those 3 a.m. feedings, mmmkay?)
And so when he came home from a Saturday morning of errands with Owen asking if I’d ever though of making an apple cinnamon pull-apart bread because the one he’d grabbed from a coffee shop display window blew his mid-morning-coffee mind, I went to work.