My Family Criticized My Wife’s Cooking at Every Dinner — So We Set Up a Secret Taste Test!

My Relatives Started Complaining about My Wife’s Meals at Our Monthly Family Dinners – So We Decided to Secretly Test Them

My spouse Megan gave our family’s monthly dinners her all, but all she received in return were hurtful remarks from my family members. I set up a covert test to uncover the true cause of their unrelenting criticism after seeing her cry much too often. My heart broke to learn what I had discovered.

Our dad’s childhood memories of hosting monthly meals are ingrained in our family’s long-standing tradition. It all began when my grandmother gathered her siblings around the table for meals, which grew closer amongst them.

Growing up, Dad and his siblings continued this custom of inviting one another over for dinner once a month. I can recall how my brothers and I looked forward to that day every month to spend quality time with our cousins.

Not that they were your typical family dinners, mind you. Mom would make sure there were at least three dishes on the table, and Dad would go all out with the decorations.

Dad once ordered pizza for the kids and it ended up being one of our favorite nights ever.

Now that my siblings and I are older, we have also embraced this lovely custom.

My older sister Angela invited us over to her apartment a few months back, and she made the best chicken pie I’ve ever had! It even won over my wife, Megan.

We took turns being the hosts, so I had also repeatedly welcomed my siblings and their spouses and children to our home. My siblings are David and Gloria, my younger siblings, and Dan and Angela, my older siblings.

When everyone brings their spouses and children around, we usually have about 13 or 14 people in attendance. My aunt Martha also occasionally joins us. She and I have always been close.

When we first started, even before we were married, my wife was thrilled to be a part of the custom. I was the chef for the longest time, but eventually she took over.

Assuring me, “You know I find cooking to be very therapeutic, babe,” she said. “Don’t worry, I’ll handle everything.”

That’s simply Megan’s nature. So kind and supportive.

That is, until the day we had dinner guests and I found out that Megan had prepared the meal.

“I knew it!” stated Angela. Why does the meal taste so strange today, I was wondering. It’s simply so boring!”

“I agree,” Dan said in a whisper. “Why is the chicken so dry?”

Mom said, “Maybe use less seasoning next time.”

I’ll never forget Megan’s expression on that particular day. Seeing her so broken-hearted was painful, especially considering all the work she had put in.

“I think the chicken is perfect!” I gave Megan a cheer. “What do you think, David?”

“Yeah, it’s really nice,” David said with a smile toward Megan. “It’s perfect!”

My aunt said to Megan, “Shouldn’t you cook what everyone likes?” “That way, no one will complain next time.”

“Yeah, I…” With a voice wavering, nearly to the point of tears, Megan started. “I’ll cook something else next time.”

What’s the matter with them? I pondered. Everything about the chicken Megan had cooked was perfect. To be honest, it was even better than my recent meal.

I discovered Megan sobbing in the bedroom later that evening.

I gave her a strong hug and remarked, “Baby, they shouldn’t have treated you like that.” “Your food was delicious. I swear. David was enamored with it as well.”

“That was only said by David,” she sobbed. All the others detested it. I’m never going to cook for them again.”

“Hey, look them in the eyes and don’t let them get you down,” I urged. “You’re strong, remember?”

I think my worst mistake in life was persuading Megan to cook for my family the next time we had dinner together.

Megan made Angela’s favorite red sauce spaghetti and my mom’s favorite roasted chicken with a side of vegetables. She watched a few YouTube videos to refine her recipe in the hopes that my family would enjoy it.

But when dinnertime came along, Mom and Angela passed down the meanest comments. I thought the dinner was amazing, so I was shocked to hear this.

Angela shook her head and remarked, “I don’t think you should ever make this pasta again, Meg.” “It tastes awful.”

With a quiet spit of chicken, Mom replied, “I’ll send you my recipe tonight.” “This isn’t what I’d call roasted chicken.”

Megan glanced at each of them and simply shook her head silently. I followed her into the kitchen after that. I could tell she was crying already.

I put my hand on her shoulder and whispered, “Baby, I loved the food.” “I don’t get why Mom and Angela are acting this way.”

“Your sister said the pasta tastes bad!” Tears were streaming down Megan’s cheeks as she whispered. “She doesn’t even enjoy the one meal I made that she likes the most. How should I proceed?”

I heard Mom say something at that point, and that made me feel angry.

“She’s not even trying,” Mom murmured, trying not to be heard.

“Didn’t she learn from last time?” My dad’s words reverberated throughout the living area.

I hurried over to the dining table to stand up for Megan at that point. It was more than I could handle.

“Why can’t you guys treat her nicely? Why is there so much drama?” I went up against them. “Why are you unable to show her some appreciation? She puts in a lot of effort to prepare meals for you all.”

“Really?” Angela arched an eyebrow. “Then why can’t she ever get anything right?”

“If she cooked better, we wouldn’t have to complain,” Mom grumbled. “We’re not asking for gourmet food, just something we can eat.”

Recognizing the futility of disputing with my family, I turned to walk back to the kitchen. Megan crossed her arms across her chest and stood there. She’d heard me go up against them.

“They never complained when you cooked,” she replied. “Are they doing this on purpose?”

I was suspicious after hearing her statements. Is it possible that my family is intentionally disparaging her?

When it was our turn to host dinner again a few days ago, I proposed that we put them to the test in private. I told Megan that we would pretend that I had made dinner and that she would be in charge of the kitchen.

Megan first objected, claiming she didn’t want to experience humiliation once more. But when I persisted, she gave in. I knew this would show what was really going on.

Megan then prepared the same foods once more. Roasted chicken with pasta with red sauce.

I said, “I cooked everything today,” as soon as my family started eating. I made the chicken according to your recipe, Mom. You will absolutely adore it.

And that’s exactly what took place.

The roasted chicken was a hit with Mom, but Dad, Angela, Dan, and even Aunt Martha were raving about it.

“This is the best pasta I’ve ever tasted!” With a lip-smack, Angela spoke. “I love it, Brandon!”

“I’m glad you took over again!” said Dad.

“Yeah, man,” Dan replied, “I never knew my brother could cook this well!”

I could tell exactly what Megan was thinking just by looking at her. Just a few meals prior, they had condemned the same dish that they were now raving over. They believed I had created the dishes, but they were the same.

My younger siblings, Gloria and David, were aware of what was happening and found it difficult not to laugh. Everyone else was enjoying their meals as if it were the greatest thing they had ever eaten.

I remarked, attracting everyone’s attention, “Okay, I need to confess something.” “But before that, I just need to confirm you all loved the food, right?”

Everybody nodded.

“Well, I didn’t actually cook anything,” I admitted. It was all the magic of Megan. She prepared this meal for all of you as though she had been doing it for months.”

There was silence in the room.

Mom’s face was scarlet with shame, as I could see, and Angela turned her attention to her drink. “Well… I mean… it’s just that, maybe she’s gotten better at cooking?” Dad attempted to hide his feelings in the meanwhile.

Despite their best efforts, the harm had already been done. At last, Megan and I realized what had been going on for the entire time.

I apologized to Megan for everything later that night while we were in the bedroom.

I told her, “I’m done with these monthly dinners.” “We’ve hosted and attended our last one together, this one.” If all they want to do is make my wife look bad, then I won’t be around them anymore.”

Megan remarked, “But that’s part of your family traditions.” “I think you should attend the dinners at least.”

I rolled my eyes and said, “I don’t care about any tradition now.” “They disrespected you, and I can’t stand that.”

My parents and siblings began to inquire after two months of us missing the family dinners. I told them up front that we would not be returning.

One day, I told Mom, “You guys ruined everything by humiliating my wife.”

“Brandon, really? Over the phone, she shrieked at me, “You can’t do this!” “You’re ruining your relationship with us because of her.”

Knowing there was no use in disputing with her, I hung up. Now I understood my family’s incessant complaints. Gloria subsequently acknowledged that they were not pleased with Megan.

She disclosed, “Mom and Angela have always been like that.” “The truth is that they never liked Megan, even though they constantly claimed to like her because you wanted to marry her. She’s too unusual, they think, not ‘family enough.'”

Gloria’s statements validated my deep-seated fear—that I had made the correct decision by sticking by Megan. She was worth more than a family who didn’t value her for who she was.

As time went on, I came to understand that our small family was the most significant thing in the world, and that the love and support we had in common was far more significant than outmoded customs or unkind remarks.

I made the decision that Megan and I would establish our own customs, ones based on decency and compassion, where every meal, regardless of the cook, felt like a home.

Do you believe what I did was appropriate?