Spicy Revenge

My husband was borne to play the role. To everyone we were the perfect couple but I knew that the farce could not last forever. My husband was so convincing that at times I thought that he honestly believed we were happy. I gave indications that I was unhappy but he chose to ignore them. And so I devised a plan that would release me from this sorry excuse of a marriage once and for all.

There was one thing my husband could not resist no matter how angry he was with me and that was my cooking. Time spent in the kitchen was the only happy time I had. It was where I could create masterpieces that allowed me to shine. I could go in the kitchen with the sole intention to bake cookies and before I knew it friends would be invited over and a party would commence because I got carried away.

My time in the kitchen and the parties that it created are what made me grin and bear the horrible marriage. One may ask why I hated my husband so intensely and the answer is simple, no matter how much I elaborated on how I felt and how the things he did hurt me, his actions never aligned with his words. He would apologize and proclaim his love for me but when I needed him, he was never there. When he needed me I moved heaven and earth to be there and if I failed to do so he would use every word he could think of to try and make me feel guilty.

So to the kitchen I went and devised several meals for the week based on is likes. It was how I started every Sunday. I then put together my shopping list and went to A&P. on my return home I began cooking Sunday dinner. His parents were coming over and as I was mixing and sautéing he came in to ask when I was going to do the laundry. I had failed to do the laundry the day before because I was in bed with a migraine headache. I typically do laundry Fridays after work but it was a rough week so instead of coming straight home I went out dancing with some friends.

I looked at him smiled and said I will put a load in after I put the roast in the oven. The moment he walked out I looked to the food that laid before me and with the garlic and flour I poured on my contempt and anger, I added my heartache and malice to ensure that every bite was bitter.

When his parents arrived I was pulling the second load of laundry out the dryer while waiting for the cake to cool. With eager joy everyone sat at the table and I smiled and served. They all thought it was delicious but after one bite I could taste the bitterness of the emotions I poured on the roast beef and the contempt I added to the mashed potatoes and the hopelessness that was on the string beans. The cake was no better I gaged when the taste of spite hit the back of my throat.

I simply told everyone I was not feeling to well and that seemed to work as he and his parents were to busy stuffing their faces to question. I knew that if I was to continue cooking this way I was going to have to prepare a separate dish for myself and if it meant feeling better than it was worth it.

Monday was normally left overs but I was feeling so light hearted from Sunday that I raced home to try a new recipe, steak pie. I would use what was left of the roast and add a few more things. As the pie crust whirled together in my food processor I threw in a touch of bitterness. As the slices of roast beef simmered in the gravy I added hatred and when I put it all together and slid it in the oven I scowled which slowly turned to a smile as the oven door closed.

When I served him his dinner he complained it was t spicy I simply apologized for my heavy use of pepper although I did not use any kind of spicy seasonings.

The next day was a simple chicken with spinach and coli flour with brownies for dessert. I used frustration and melancholia. He complained it was too salty. I looked him in the eye hoping he would catch the insincerity of my apology but it went unnoticed but as the week went on I used the same recipes as I always did except I substituted salt and pepper for every ill feeling and emotion I had ever had since I got into this marriage. I forced him to taste the effecting sting of what his lack of caring did until Sunday I did not cook at all.

I sat on the couch watching TV, I told him I was depressed, he asked when dinner was and I told him I was not up to cooking, he told me that he had invited his parents and his brother over and I stood my ground I was not cooking. I stayed in my robe and had my big Winnie the Pooh mug full of coffee and watched all the shows I recorded on my DVR.

When his family arrived I got dressed and we ordered pizza. I looked up to catch evil looks from him and his family. The only one who managed to fake any kind of concern was his father, he asked how my job and family were in hopes it would give some indication to why I was depressed and did not cook. I simply smiled and said I everyone and everything was fine and that I was simply having an off day.

The moment the house was clear I went back to the couch where my husband tried to join me. I smiled and said I could really use some alone time he looked at me and said he had nothing else to do.  We had not had sex since Monday and he only had time for me when he either wanted sex or could think of nothing better to do. This was the point where he would talk of being concerned for me and tell me how much he loved me in hopes that things would go back to how they were. I would normally give in or express the same things that I had expressed for the past three years and then things would return to normal.

This time I decided to go to the kitchen and make brownies. It was nothing special just some boxed Chardelle that I would add a few extras to. Nuts, chocolate chips and then split the batter between two pans and add a secret ingredient that he would not taste but I would know is there, nothing lethal but enough to begin faze two of my plan.

My grandmother had told me a story about a cousin we had down south and despite the gruesomeness it was one of my favorites. It was a story of revenge and stupidity.  Whenever I would introduce someone to my grandmother and we got to talking about distant family members I would have her tell the story and when it came to my boyfriends I would tell them how fucked up I thought it was.

By now the standard was set for he and I to have two separate meals my excuse was I was on a new diet and had to be mindful of what I ate. I was eating only vegies and the kind he was not a fan of prepared in ways that made him curious but unwilling to try. I always told him his biggest flaw was that I knew him to well and he didn’t know me well enough.

A week later he started getting sick and as I did not cook every night he first thought it was the fast food he was eating I assured him it was not but he tried to cut it out and still got sicker.

He went to the doctor and they began running test and just as I had planned on they told him he was being poisoned. He came home angry and I reassured him it was not me which was the truth. After the brownies I knew it was not a good idea to make it the norm so I stopped. When he kept getting sicker he insisted on cooking his own meals and I was more than happy to allow him to. It was not long before his family came over for dinner and while everyone got sick except for me. His family recovered but my poor husband found his self in the hospital. An investigation began and I was asked if it was ok for the police to search my house and of course they found nothing.

It was explained to me that my husband was ingesting rat poisoning and that the traces were on the lethal side. My acting classes paid off because I managed to look believably shocked. I explained that I no longer cooked for my husband which he confirmed.

While in the hospital he insisted that the food sucked and that he hated the little salt and pepper packets. He insisted that I bring him the miniature pepper grinder from home. I was more than happy to oblige. A week later he was dead.

I did a good job by never keeping the pepper grinder at the hospital. I would visit with it at dinner time then take it home. Bitterness makes one do some crazy things. Like chopping rat pellets down to small cubes and adding them to the  multi colored pepper corns in the pepper grinder.

When I began adding my emotions to dinner I removed all salt and pepper and laced the pepper grinder. I told my husband that freshly cracked black pepper makes all the difference in a dish and after trying it for himself he agreed. Every night I watched as he twisted poison onto his food and when he began cooking for himself he went heavy handed.

My cousin was a woman scorned. Her husband left her for a younger woman. The husband then would still eat dinner at his ex-wife’s house so to get him back she put small amounts of rat poison in his food and because he was not eating at one place they could not trace it back to her. Even after the doctors told him he was being poisoned he continued eating until he was dead.

My husband never acted like he cared and being Jewish he was buried in three days. I pretended to mourn the loss and then sold the house and moved. I told everyone I thought he did it to himself. But his father noticed that while we sat Shiva there was no pepper in the house and it drove him crazy he loves pepper. I looked him in the eye and said, “So that’s where you son got it, you know it was the death of him.” He looked at me and expressed his disgust in my joke to which I simply smiled and left.