What’s for Dinner, Hon?
This is a question I would like to ask for a change. For twenty years, that is 7300 days, I have been cooking and aside from washing the dishes and the laundry, it’s the most redundant part of my day.
Every now and then a new idea will manifest itself into my brain and a new dish will be introduced. Sometimes I receive a smile. Sometimes I receive a grimace. It depends on the dish.
Another feat I have accomplished is baking bread. This has received much praise. Let’s face it, fresh made bread with butter and strawberry jam is the greatest comfort food in the history of the world. But here’s the harsh reality: If I keep on baking bread, which takes about three to four hours per day, it will cease to become a joyful event. However, my family will expect it thus entrenching myself even more deeply into the role of a kitchen slave.
There are rules to follow and signs to look out for.
Anything that takes more than an hour to cook is a dangerous task to take on.
Living in the south does have its food advantages. My fried chicken and mashed potatoes makes Colonel Sanders look like a turkey. But I have eaten my own chicken for a long time and it is starting to get on my nerves.
I have fantasies of coming home from work and Richard having a scrumptious meal prepared. Something I haven’t eaten before that won’t make me puke would be preferable. I picture a beautiful tablecloth with a banquet of the most succulent food placed upon it and candles lit as Richard serves dinner and doesn’t speak for the entire evening.
As I said, this is a fantasy. To actually have this fantasy become a reality would take about thirty years of husband training. When do I have room to accomplish this when I am cooking all of the time? And plus, as it stands, Richard’s idea of a guy’s night out playing cards equates a one man solo act in front of the computer playing solitaire. I have more important issues to contend with besides his culinary skills!
On the other hand, I’ll watch a particular episode of ‘Little House on the Prairie’ where the mother and children only receive a penny, an apple and a few potatoes for Christmas and are extremely grateful for their gifts. This makes me feel like the most spoiled woman in America.
So, it’s roast beef and carrots tonight, dear. And tomorrow night, either spaghetti or fried chicken with mashed potatoes. I would try to prepare duck with orange sauce but it’s against the law to make such things in the south.
