Mr. How Sweet is a man’s man.
He’s polite and a true gentleman — he still opens the car door for me every time.
He usually shaves, though sometimes he has a little scruff. Deep down he wants to live in jeans and flannel, which I pretend to object to.
He doesn’t mind getting his hands dirty or tackling outdoor projects. Not literally rolling in mud, but he’s not afraid of a little grime.
His go-to meals are simple: pizza or steak, and he’s happiest with one of those on the table.
He wasn’t always so stereotypically rugged. When we first met, he wore skinny Dolce & Gabbana jeans, and one of our earliest dates was for sushi.
I couldn’t pay him to eat sushi now.
At the risk of totally embarrassing him, I have to admit Mr. How Sweet made me a mixed CD every month for the first year and a half we were together.
They were filled with the latest top 40 hits and a few sappy love songs, all chosen with care.
I even remember an early text from him about how excited he was to watch Dancing with the Stars with me that night.
One night while watching it, he casually suggested taking dance lessons.
Who is this man? Is he real, or did he inhale too many fumes on the commute home?
I like to think he tricked me into falling for him.
Most of it is a blur now, but as he got older and our relationship matured, the real Mr. How Sweet emerged.
The man who owns 600 die-cast NASCAR cars and lives for Sundays to watch the race.
The guy who traded my fun playlists for heavy metal and, to my horror, classic country — the Conway Twitty and Waylon Jennings era. I still ask who those old-timers are, but sometimes ignorance is bliss.
He used to watch chick flicks with me and enjoy trashy reality TV. These days he’s more likely to be handicapping the Kentucky Derby on the computer while I zone out to Keeping Up With the Kardashians.
And yes, he once had the audacity to grow a moustache.
Last night I tried to fool him with a pizza-inspired pasta dish.
I cooked whole wheat pasta and tossed it in tomato sauce with parmesan, fresh mozzarella, pepperoni, and Italian seasoning.
Then I layered provolone and extra pepperoni on top and slid it under the broiler until it was hot and bubbly.
It looked and smelled irresistible, even though I’m not a big pepperoni fan.
Mr. How Sweet loved it.
I kept my excitement in check, but I was thrilled. He normally expects a meal to include chicken, steak, ground beef or turkey — some substantial protein. If not, he’ll find a chicken leg in the fridge and gnaw on it beside his plate.
This time I got away with just pepperoni. He ate the whole thing and didn’t ask where the rest of the protein was.
I don’t blame him — it was delicious.
Pizza Pasta
Yield:
4
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Ingredients
- 2 cups whole wheat pasta, cooked
- 1/2 cup tomato sauce
- 1 oz fresh mozzarella, chopped
- 1/2 tablespoon Italian seasoning
- 15 slices pepperoni, cut into quarters
- 2 tablespoons parmesan cheese
- 1/2 cup provolone cheese
Instructions
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Preheat broiler.
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Combine pasta and sauce in a bowl. Top with fresh mozzarella, Italian seasoning, parmesan, and half of the pepperoni. Add provolone and the remaining pepperoni on top.
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Place under the broiler until the cheese melts and becomes bubbly, about 30–60 seconds. Serve hot.
Main Course
American
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About 20 minutes after finishing, Mr. How Sweet piped up, “You know, that was really good. But I just don’t think there was enough protein in it for me.”
Stay tuned.
Tonight’s dinner will be a giant bowl of meat, appropriately labeled “dinner.”