This evening, I sharpened my knives and with nose crinkled and eyes kinda squinty, I dutifully chopped up a small eggplant and prepped it so as to remove all the bitterness. I glanced over at the other ingredients I would be cooking with and in my head I apologized to each of them for even making them spend time in the same grocery bag, let alone be prepared in the same meal as eggplant. You're getting the impression that I don't like eggplant, right; that only true love would drive a man in my situation to do what he's about to do? Good, good, good. Then I think I've properly set the mood.
The Wife's reaction: Mmm, this smells good, but why did you use eggplant? I didn't think you liked it. The tomatoes are delicious and the garlic is perfect in this dish, but neither of us really likes eggplant.
Well, at the very least, that's one sacrifice I don't ever have to make again.