My Husband the Chef
My hubby is a gorgeous man – he has a stressful job handling situations that would give the rest of us nightmares. He is a FANTASTIC dad with endless patience for being shot dead by a dinosaur and then coming back to life again with a single kiss (the latest game). He knows that when I put the pink floral flannelette ankle length nightie on to come to bed to not ask for sex and when he DOES help with the housework, he turns the house inside out to get it done properly (not the slap dash job I do on a daily basis). I simply adore him.
BUT….. he is a helpless git when it comes to following instructions when they relate to
cooking anything to do with food.
Before kids, Nick and I used to enjoy a weekly Sunday brunch down the road at a local cafe – that was when you got to enjoy a sleep in. Our “usual order” was eggs benedict with smoked salmon and we did this for nearly a year – thats 52 serves of eggs benedict with smoked salmon give or take. SO, when we moved to live1700km from this cafe, I though that I would stick to the usual and offer to cook home made Eggs Benedict for Nick on our first Sunday morning. Small problem – had all the ingredients (even for a home made hollandaise – yes I am just THAT good 😉 to cook it from scratch apart from the salmon so whilst I got started on the eggs and sauce, I sent hapless hubby down to Coles to gather the salmon. He set off enthusiastically and returned in similar form, very proud of his efforts in the cold-cuts department. Apart from this: I unwrapped the butcher paper, thinking wow, he has gone fancy and got deli-smoked salmon instead of the usual vacuum-packed stuff I buy, but no, he had purchased 2 fillets of SALMON – big chunky raw fishy salmon. When questioned about his buying prowess he got all defensive saying “well, you just asked for salmon so that’s what I bought!!!”
Lesson learned – I have never sent my salmon-challenged hubby on another solo grocery shopping expedition – was that his mission in the first place??? Makes me wonder.
I leave to take G Man to speech therapy, giving my darling hubby very explicit instructions on what to give master J for a morning tea snack – a banana and a tub of yoghurt. Apparently the chocolate milo snack pack constitutes yoghurt because “it comes in the same tub and was in the fridge” – Jax must have thought it was Christmas and from then on I leave a post-it note on the mid-morning snack in the fridge.
I get back from playgroup with both boys in tow ( for those of you with more than one child at playgroup you will know that it is no longer the “relax with a cuppa session” which USED to be with only one child – its a kind of manic juggling act whilst trying to negotiate an adult conversation and the only thing that keeps you going is that it isnt your house being trashed), to be met with a “oh thank goodness youre home, Im STARVING”. Now there is fresh bread on the bench, ham, tomato, cheese and lettuce in the fridge and an assortment of condiments which hubby dearest COULD have put together himself but NO, its too hard. “You make the BEST sandwiches” he says whilst I am simultaneously changing a dirty nappy, getting G Man a drink and navigating the remote control to find Postman Pat. I say “Seriously?? You cant make yourself a sandwich??” I don’t even have the energy to make myself a ham and salad sandwich, let alone a fully grown and capable man.
I dig my heels in. I am not his mother and its not that hard. I show him where all the stuff is.
You know what he does?
And goes to work.
I will say one thing – he bought me a Thermomix a few months back out of the kindness of his heart. Just because he loved me and he knew I wanted one. See? There is a pay off for accepting general culinary pathetic-ness and making a him a ham and salad sandwich – sometimes.
Til next time,