Just Eat It

I love to cook. NOW.

I grew up so afraid of the heat from the oven that I couldn’t stand to take the chocolate chip cookies I’d painstakingly mixed and put in the cold oven back out of a hot one. My little sister was braver and better coordinated–I generously allowed her to handle that part.

A telling college story is the time my first real roommate in my first real apartment mocked me scathingly for warming up spaghettios and canned corn for dinner à deux with my boyfriend. “Dinner is SERVED, honey!” she trilled, mincing around the kitchen waving a can opener. (She wasn’t that nice.)

When I was first married I specialized in a category of one pot meals I called “stuff with stuff in it.” For example, cous cous with spaghetti sauce and (more) canned corn mixed in. Or mac n’ cheese with tuna n’ peas–rhymingly delicious.

My mom is an accomplished cook who filled my early childhood with tasty, nutritious meals accompanied by thick slices of her home-baked bread. My dad says he hates to cook, but faithfully churns out beautiful omelets, scratch buttermilk pancakes, perfectly grilled cheeses, etc. Suffice to say I was always aiming at being someone who reliably made good food at home, but I took my time, and sacrificed many cans of corn, getting there.

But, although I say it about myself, I’ve arrived. This past Monday night I roasted two chickens on a bed of apples and onions, accompanied by a butternut squash gratin and steamed green beans with lemon-butter. For dessert I made an apple pie and whipped cream. There was certainly labor involved, but truly, it was the labor of love. And I hope my children understood that in their hearts, because I was a little crabby with them during dinner prep.

And that’s a theme. Kids, I’m in the kitchen sweating bullets cranking out a beautiful meal to show you my love and care. Now, buzz off. I don’t want to be talked to, looked at, questioned, or god forbid, HELPED. Everyone leave the kitchen so I can love you, please!

A favorite phrase I amuse myself repeating ad nauseam is, “something yummy that you will like.” As in:

“What’s for dinner?”
“Something yummy that you will like.”
“What are you packing in my lunch?”
“Something yummy that you will like.”
“Kids, what do you want for breakfast? Never mind, I’ll just make you something yummy, that you will like.”

The second part of the sentence is part brainwashing attempt, part threat. You will like it, because heaven help you if you don’t. I sure as shit don’t want to hear about how you don’t like this yummy food that you actually DO like, now shut up. I AM TRYING TO LOVE YOU HERE, BE QUIET AND EAT.

I’m a great parent, you would love to be my kid. Or just to come to dinner. Don’t bother to ask what’s on the menu. Your job is to supply wine, pleasant conversation, and compliments to the chef. Or else.