What’s cookin’, good lookin’?
Uh … nothing. Sorry, Bryan.
I don’t mind cleaning, laundry, grocery shopping, yard work … but UGH … I’m just not into cooking or baking. My husband, Bryan, recently celebrated his 40th birthday. For this milestone, I decided to take a day off from work and planned for my daughter and I to surprise him when he came in the door with decorations and dinner. I made a lasagne and a boxed cake. I had never made either one before and was pleased with myself because everything came out pretty well! And then I looked at him and said, “Huh. That wasn’t too bad. Maybe I’ll do that again soon.” And there it was: that heartbreaking look I’d
seen caused many times before. Because even though my intentions are good, lightning rarely strikes twice. I guess he knows me better than I know me. I really did want to make it again. But I didn’t.
I pore over easy recipes online (oh man, I do love Thug Kitchen, but I never make the recipes), ask friends how they made that delicious dish that I tasted at their party or get-together, and make a mental note that I really do need to start doing Sunday meal planning that would save me time and energy and please my entire family. But it rarely happens. I’m a little embarrassed to be the one who always prepares cold dishes for potluck soirees. I’m (slightly) terrified to have guests over for dinner. And I am mildly concerned that a few years down the road my daughter is going to go to a friend’s house and see what a “real” meal looks like … and then come home and tell me how wonderful it was to eat at so-and-so’s house. Don’t get me wrong, my daughter eats pretty healthy, but chick peas and broccoli are really not most people’s idea of a normal meal. I like to think of it as eating “raw”, when in reality, it’s merely the avoidance of cooking.
My lack of desire to cook has many times made me feel immature and un-wifely / un-motherly. Not that I feel that a woman’s place is in the kitchen, or that we necessarily need to fulfill stereotypical roles. But, honestly? Sometimes I feel a little left out of the “woman’s club”. Many times other women have seen my lack of skills rear it’s ugly head and offer suggestions: “I’ve got a really easy recipe.” Or, “Cooking is so easy!” Or, “Cooking is fun!” Part of me wants to follow through with making that simple and delicious recipe a friend just scribbled down, but just not enough of me I suppose. And good Lord! I feel like it’s pretty time consuming to make a big meal. Remember that day back in December when I made that lasagne? I feel like I practically need to take time off of work to make a proper meal. OK, NOT practically. I literally had to take a day off of work to make a proper meal.
Maybe this is something I need to add to my list of things to work on. I really do feel bad when I see my husband’s eyes go soft at Sloppy Joe commercials or TV shows featuring a cameo appearance from a meatloaf. Eight out of 10 times he cooks. (It’s not necessarily anything that I am interested in eating, however. He would be content with four sausages with a side of sausage.) And although his getting involved in the kitchen really shouldn’t be an issue and I should just chalk it up to up us being a team, part of me feels like that’s not the case. It feels less like an agreement than it does an act of desperation from my husband.
The guy needs to eat.