You fill up my senses, too, but not in a good way
Garlic gets in the way of marital harmony.
By Monica Dux
February 9, 2017 — 2.45pm
These days, even the lowliest of comestibles are likely to be awarded their own festivals. Heavyweights like wine and cheese have long been celebrated with special events, but now we are also seeing the likes of chicken festivals, salami festivals, truffle festivals and even chilli festivals. I'm delighted to announce that garlic has finally been added to this list, with the inaugural festival being held in the small town of Meeniyan in South Gippsland.
Last month, my fellow columnist Anson Cameron equated garlic with male virility. But while Anson sees testicles in those pungent bulbs, I see a destroyer of libido. For garlic has created a rift in my previously rift-less relationship.
Credit:Robin Cowcher
When I first met my husband, nearly a decade and a half ago, I fell very quickly and deeply in love, and have stayed that way ever since. When I hear an exultant love song, I think of him. He fills up my senses, he's the light of my life and loving him is easy.
He's my personal champion. If I were to suggest that I'd like to give up writing and take up sculpture, in order to create colossal marble cervixes as a homage to the sisterhood, he'd look at me sincerely and say, "If that's what you want to do I'm sure we can make it work".
Lately though, cracks have started emerging. And garlic is responsible.
For I am a garlic devotee. I adore its flavour, and believe it holds the magical ability to stave off illness and malaise. It's what I'd take to that imaginary desert island, the one thing I would never give up, even if coffee and sleep-ins were also on the table.
You'd think, after living together for so many years, my husband would have at least mentioned that my garlic consumption was challenging for him. Yet it was only recently that he suddenly made his announcement. "I can't bear it," he blurted out one night, "The smell is just overwhelming!"
The way I see it, he's been lying to me all these years. The way he sees it, my so-called "addiction" has recently gotten a lot worse. As evidence, he cites my comments regarding my parents' garlic crusher, a quality piece of kitchenware that I have always admired. I dug it out on a recent visit, and was astonished to find that it had grown smaller. How is that even possible? "It's not the crusher that's smaller," observed my smug spouse. "It's your consumption that's grown."
And perhaps it's true. I have Googled for tips on how to alleviate the (alleged) odour, but there is only so much that mint leaves and apples can do when faced with the wall of garlic I have erected around myself.
"Why not save it for when you visit your parents?" my husband suggests. They live interstate, and apparently he regards 900 kilometres as a big enough buffer zone. And so I tried it, but then my dad started to comment rudely on the overwhelming smell. Perhaps they're in cahoots.
My husband says he doesn't want me to give it up entirely, just cut down. Significantly. Yet I can't help myself. It's as if a malicious wizard, jealous of our happiness, has placed a spell on me. "Eat the stinky clove," the wizard chants. "Look how delicious it is, how pungent! Forget that bald-headed schmuck you share a bed with."
So I'm at a crossroads. I worry that eschewing garlic to please my spouse is a personal compromise, the culinary equivalent of getting a boob job. Yet our lovemaking is now suffering, particularly after I've had my signature dish, "garlic soup with a hint of vegetable."
I've always been irritated by self-evident truisms about what makes a good relationship. Articles circulate on social media, listing the things you need to do in order to make your relationship work, as if some puerile checklist will teach us how to love well and unselfishly, and how to appreciate good love when it's offered to us.
Care, kindness, acceptance, these are the things that count, and I have them in abundance. But then what about garlic? Where's the advice about love and noxious food items when you need it?
Right now, we are trying to build bridges. It was my husband, after all, who told me about the garlic festival. "Why don't we all go?" he suggested. "Really?" I questioned. "You're happy to go to a garlic festival with me?" "I love Gippsland," he responded. "And the weather's warm. We can leave the car windows open on the way home."
@monicadux
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