My wife is a great cook. I am amazed how she can walk into our kitchen, take what is available in the refrigerator and cabinets, and whip up a meal that tastes better than what most restaurants serve. The other day, I mentioned in passing that I saw a picture of split pea soup, and it looked good. In an hour, she had created the best split pea soup I have ever had, including from Anderson’s, home of split pea soup, in Buellton, CA. If you have ever driven Hwy. 101 in central California, and seen a sign every 100 yards telling you how far to go to Anderson’s, you’ll know what I am talking about.
Since my treatments, my diet has changed a bit due to the aftereffects, and my lovely wife has adjusted our daily menu to meet my needs. I am eating better and healthier than I ever have. We had a vegetarian risotto with mushrooms dish last night that I wanted to fill our bathtub with it and dive in. Yes, that good. Does anyone have any suggestions on how to get risotto out of your ears?
I call her chef, but she insists that she is just a cook. If that’s the case, why does she require me to say “Yes, Chef,” every time she asks me a question? Maybe a little too much of FX’s “The Bear.”
I can cook. I can make a meal and make sure that no one under my care will starve to death, or die of food poisoning…something to be proud of. At one point during the many jobs I’ve had, I was a short-order cook at a small breakfast/lunch restaurant. How did I get that job? I was the dishwasher and the general do-all-the-dirty-work type guy who took over the cooking duties when the owner of the cafe suffered a heart attack. I still had to do my other duties for several weeks while he was laid up. Amazingly, I didn’t have a heart attack. Again, no one died as a result of my cooking…that I know of.
I do jump into the kitchen and cook to give my talented wife a day off as often as I can. It’s amazing what I can do with a can of Spam and mashed potatoes. What usually happens is that my wife wanders into our kitchen around noon and starts on another magical dinner, spending most of the afternoon creating a masterpiece. Yes, there might be food processors, blenders, a mandolin (the slicing utensil and not the instrument, even though if the strings were sharp enough it might work), an electric frying pan, assorted spatulas, knives, spoons, and cookbooks spread all over the countertop. One of the most essential tools she uses is her laptop computer, which is usually covered in flour and ready when a question needs to be answered. I think I saw her use the computer as a cutting board and to crush garlic cloves.
What surprises me most about my wife’s cooking is that she genuinely enjoys it. For me, cooking is a necessity, just like taking the garbage cans out to the curb for pick-up. I do it, I don’t love it. When she enters our kitchen, she has an idea and doesn’t leave the kitchen until she has finished preparing the meal. What some husbands might consider the best part is that when I try to clean up the kitchen, she shoos me out. Being the good Catholic that I am, my guilt complex forces me to forge ahead and clean it up anyway…then I take the trash out.
She sometimes gets her dinner ideas from watching the cooking shows on The Food Network. She sees something interesting and wants to copy it, and usually nails it. Refer back to the split pea soup. She turned a thought of mine into a delicious meal.
I like the shows that give the competing chefs a basket of ingredients, including some edible items, but also things like lollipops, spaghetti pop-cycles, and I think I once saw a can of motor oil. The chefs are also given an impossible amount of time to complete their task. As a joke one time, while she was making dinner, I handed my wife a rubber chicken, a package of Ramen noodles and a Jujubes candy and then told her she had 20 minutes to make a delicious entree. That’s when I learned never to joke with her while she’s holding a meat tenderizer. I hope the bruises are gone soon.
Next week my beautiful wife has time off from cooking. We are going on a cruise up the California coast. We’ll be visiting San Francisco, Santa Barbara, San Diego, and Ensenada, Mexico. All our meals are provided from the dining room, to the buffet on the top of the ships, to the specialty restaurants available for us to choose from. If, for some reason, my wife disappears while on the cruise, I will start checking the kitchens of all these dining facilities to see if she has taken over. The one giveaway will be a flour-covered computer lying on a countertop surrounded by sliced fennel, onions, and crushed garlic.
My job will be to exercise our drink package for the cruise, try the many different desserts included, and help load the garbage scow when it pulls up to the ship each day. I do it, I don’t love it.
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