The challenges of living with a picky eater

I love DH. Really, I do. He's my best friend, my one and only, my soulmate, the father of my future children. But there's this one thing about him that just peeves me.

He's a picky eater.

I know, I know. "It's not that big of a deal," you say. "Being picky is better than being a jerk/neglectful husband/cross-dresser," you say. And while these things may be true, I'll tell you why this frustrates me so much. I. Love. Food. Almost any food. Italian, Mexican, Indian, Chinese, Japanese, American...you name it, I'll (probably) eat it. I'm the kind of person who has always wanted to try haggis, and would probably like it. But DH? DH is a meat and taters kinda guy. And not even exciting meat and taters. I accuse him of not liking vegetables, and he says, "I like vegetables! I like potatoes...and corn...and green beans." Two of those three don't count, DH. They're starches. They're not even really all that good for you.

So now, I'm the end of my rope, and trying to come up with ways to sneak veggies into his diet. He's told me that I can just buy food without telling him in advance, or cook things without telling him what's in it. But my dilemma is that if he tastes it and doesn't like it, he just won't eat it. Then I'm left with lots of effort and time wasted, and too much leftover food. Sigh. Someday, I will learn how to trick him into eating wonderful food. Someday, I will cook interesting things like quinoa and naan. But until then, I'll keep making pan-friend chicken and mashed potatoes, and dreaming of food.