Tasting failure

Maybe it's just because I've been in a stressed-out funk lately but I've been feeling like a failure in the kitchen.

It started at Thanksgiving this year where I made a veggie shepherd's pie so I had something to eat that wasn't meat.  I was originally planning on making a veggie pot pie but there is someone in the family who needs to go gluten-free so I topped it with mashed potatoes instead of crust.  Nobody ate it but me.  I think my mother-in-law took a couple of bites out of courtesy.

I recently made some bread that looked good but didn't taste that great.

I made some fish tacos that would have been super awesome if it wasn't for my bad luck in getting moldy-tasting tilapia from the co-op.

I made an Indian lentil curry.  Husband hated it.  I took out the spices one by one and asked him which ones specifically he had a problem with.  It was definitely coriander.  Right.  Check.  No more coriander in the family meals.

More and more the leftovers in the fridge don't make it to work with Husband or if I send the containers along with him they return to the sink uneaten.

Last night I made this Jamaican Vegetable Rundown.  Husband took one bite and didn't even try to hide his… OK, it was straight up disgust.  There was sighing.  There was frowning.  I don't know if he realized how much he was hurting my feelings.  "It's my own fault," he said, "I'm not helping with the meal planning."

Wow.

I'm pretty sure I'm not that bad of a cook.  Aside from some irritating ribbing from my family about my vegetarian food at family events (I don't eat bird or mammal, I'm not the only person in the world who does this, and I'm sick of hearing about it), I've never had anyone tell me that something I made was bad.  Quite the opposite, actually.

I'm feeling pretty low.

That is all.