Chapter 2 - nacho pichu

Katie danced about the kitchen with practised ease, humming to herself as she pulled pans and baking trays out of the cupboards, fired up the oven and plucked ingredients from the fridge.

Food. She might've guessed. Like all men, her husband loved to eat and *always* cleaned his plate. Sometimes she wondered if he had married her solely for her triple-cream cheese souffle.

Certainly her rich dishes were the main reason Ryan had developed that rather portly hubby-belly in their six months of marriage. Sure, a love of beer and avoidance of any exercise beyond pool probably deserved a share of the credit. As did his desk job and desire to drive that Porsche everywhere in order to show off. But rich, heavy meals were the primary culprit. Shunning fruit and veg, Ryan's belly had an incredible capacity for fatty meats, sugary sweets and calorie-loaded desserts. Katie had realised this pretty quickly, and throughout their courtship, she had plied the handsome stockbroker with pound cakes, cream tarts and cherry pies, watching with pride as he whittled them down to nothing while boasting about how much money he'd pulled in that day, then held out his plate for more - just as greedy for puddings as he was for profits.

The irony that Ryan's desired repayment for her lighthearted teasing about his developing gut was to be an epic meal of the sort that had made him so round in the first place seemed to have entirely eluded him.

Still, Katie was desperate to win back her husband's favour. If it was food he wanted, then food he would get. She cracked another egg and began to whisk.

********

As Katie worked industriously in the kitchen, upstairs Ryan lazed in bed, surfing channels and eventually settling on a popular cooking show: Scarlett Sunford's Saturday Sizzle. It was popular for two prime reasons, and Ryan licked his lips as the redhead host leaned forward provocatively to layer an extravagant coating of honey onto the back a huge moist looking ham.

A grumble rolled across his stomach.

"Katrina!" he called loudly. "What's taking so long?"

After the briefest of pauses, a chirpy reply rose up the stairs: "Just a few more moments, my love!"

Sheesh someone's impatient today, thought Katie, cranking the oven dial up slightly to speed things along and tossing a large lump of cheese into a frying pan, where it quickly began to sizzle.

Hit by a sudden wave of inspiration, she reached into a low cupboard to pull out a big bag of nachos and a large glass bowl.

Best fix up a snack to tide him over, she thought.

"How long's a moment?" Ryan's frustrated call drifted downstairs in a whine just as Katie was shaking nachos from bag to bowl.

"Oh, not long at all, my beloved!" she replied, grinning as she continued to shake. Ryan squeezed every deal in his favour down to the dollar, and hated anything imprecise - he always wanted to know exactly what was happening and when, especially where money and food were concerned. Katie knew that by being vague she'd wind him up.

After pausing for a moment, she tipped up the bag, emptying the rest of its contents and filling the bowl beyond the brim. Sooner give the man too much than too little, she figured, especially considering the mood he seemed to be in. Reaching for the frying pan, the diligent housewife moved it over the bowl in a wide arc, drizzling the chips in a landslide of melted cheese, before pouring a copious dose of leftover guacamole on top, squiriting on some mayo, and adding a generous sprinking of salt and pepper - and then grating some parmesan onto the summit for good measure.

Grabbing a premium beer from the fridge and kicking the door shut, she turned with the mighty snack in hand and hurried upstairs.

************

"That it?" Ryan tried to look nonplussed as his smiling apron-clad wife placed mountain of richly-dressed nachos in his lap.

She leaned in to give him a quick peck on the cheek.

"Of course not dear!" Smiling brightly, Katie pulled out a particularly gigantic nacho, scooped up a generous dollop of guacamole and sour cream and pushed it towards her husband's opening mouth.

"I just thought you needed a teensy little taster now to take the edge off your appetite; that's all." She stepped back, raising her hands like a priestess. "I call it - Nacho Pichu, the legendary mountain of edible gold!" Wiping guacamole from Ryan's upper lip with a napkin, Katie swept in one fluid move to the side of the bed and tied it gently around his neck. "But don't fret, my famished Emperor! This meagre offering is but the first glimpse of the feast to come - a small tribute to your tastebuds. Your burritos and fajitas are already heating up - succulent chicken and pork will soon be cooked through."

As she uttered the last words, Katie reached down and gently patted the bulge of her husband's impatiently grumbling belly. "Wouldn't want the imperial stomach to have to contend with any undercooked meat now, would we?"

The brunette smirked to herself as she bobbed back to her feet. Though Ryan had kept chewing throughout her discouse, she hadn't missed the brief wince of pain in his eyes at the end, as memories of last year's Thanksgiving returned with her mention of undercooked meat.

Of course, on that occasion it hadn't really been anything undercooked that had left her dear husband bedbound with an agonising two-day tummyache. Ryan had simply surfeited on turkey and guzzled up way too many helpings of pecan pie - four huge slices, if she remembered rightly, with plenty of whipping cream to boot. It probably didn't help that such a big culinary overdose came on top of a morning of perpetual grazing and boozing with the guys in front of the TV (while their wives worked deep within the kitchens, emerging only when summoned to replenish the beer and snacks). Still, despite watching worriedly as her husband shovelled endless forkfuls of food at the table - and even suggesting (unsuccessfully) that he perhaps stop after the second slice of pie - Katie had thought later on that he'd gotten away with it. But when a bad case of the gurgles had interrupted Ryan mid-charade, she'd instantly identified the problem, and concocted the undercooked meat excuse to save her husband's pride, even as he turned green and clutched at his bulging tummy. She'd figured she'd spent the day slaving over concoctions for him, so why not one more?

Not that she'd had much sympathy for him at the time, thought Katie as she turned toward the bedroom door. He really shouldn't have sat around stuffing his face while his wife slaved her ass off in the kitchen.

"Waffabout desserft?" mumbled Ryan through a mouthful of nachos, just as she reached the doorframe.

Katie couldn't resist: "Um, pecan pie?"

The slender brunette sniggered to herself as a groan pursued her hurried escape down the stairs. Mentioning the pie had been a low blow, perhaps, and a little obvious, but he'd asked for it. Sure, she wanted to win her handsome hubby back over, and if that meant attending to all his capricious wishes for a while, then so be it.

But it didn't mean she couldn't enjoy a few subtle giggles at his expense in the process.