My mom was a good cook, and we all HAD to eat what she cooked. When I first got married my husband was so picky and spoiled. I made dinner every day and it was a balanced healthy meal. He wanted me to cook a completely different dinner just for him. And what he wanted was not healthy food. He told me food was love. I told him food was food, and I had too busy of a schedule to come home tired and then and run a restaurant just for him.
No way was I coming up with a 3 page menu. I was working and going to school and I was not going to encourage poor eating habits or cater to a selfish individual. Turned out he was momma's boy and was extremely self-centered. I had too many other things to do with what little time I had at the end of the day to cater to some nut case.
I was buying all the food at home. So I told him I wasn't running a restaurant, the meal was balanced and healthy. I told him he had 3 choices. It was either eat what I bought and cooked, buy his own food and cook it, or go to a restaurant and pay them for the food and cooking.
He ended up eating at a restaurant and paying his momma to cook for him.
And then he wanted me to make the ethnic food his momma made, some stuff made out of beef lungs...of all things. I didn't want any cow lungs in the house. I told him if he brought anything like that in the house he could just move back in with momma. LOL
Needless to say, he had other major problems and the marraige did not last long. He actually thought he could create a marraige that was a one way street. He was looking for a stand-in for his aging momma. I was going to pay all the bills, do all the work around the house, buy him a new car, pay for vacations, cater to his every whim and wish, and he would do nothing and live the life of Riley. He had delusions of grandeur. He thought he had married a sweet young dumb thing that he could re-mold into momma. Boy was he in for a reality shock when none of that was happening.
I sent him to a counselor. He could not create his fantasy world and was not willing to make the transition from a spoiled little boy to an adult man. And he did not want any kids, NO sex either, because he was determined to be the perpetual child. And he was 35 and spending most of his time crying the blues at momma's house!
So I divorced him. It was such a bazaar experience for me, dealing with a fruitcake at such a young age.