Ball it up, sauce it up, spice it up, add sausage. No, these aren't the chapter headings for my upcoming autobiography, which apropos of nothing is titled, "Crumbs in My Cleavage, The Titillating Truth." These are the tactics I must employ to get my husband, with the palate of a 12-year-old Mexican boy, to eat things that he normally resists. So poached flounder with jasmine rice becomes Spicy! Fish Balls! With Grains of Wonder! And a Side of Chorizo! What can I say? After 15 years together, I know how to appeal to his inner Mexican child.

Now, my husband loves Buffalo wings. So much so, that they are actually HIS specialty. He marinates them overnight in a magical concoction of Crystal hot sauce, fresh jalapenos, garlic, and the essence of childhood pinata dreams. He then grills them low and slow for an hour, and they are wonderfully delicious. Trust me, I'll show you the size of my ass, and you'll see just how delicious.