Tuesday, May 18, 2010

Bon Appetite

This is me: unable to remember the assembly directions for a Big Mac, and therefore permanently assigned to cashier duty during my youthful stint at McDonald's.

This is my husband: Degreed in culinary arts, many years in various kitchens across the country for a private dining club.

This is me: Opening the freezer and seeing random meats I have little idea what to do with, and wondering why we don't buy ground beef which can be made into a ketchup and egg meatloaf, which I know how to do.

This is my husband: Taking a cut of meat only its mother could love, soaking it overnight in what I thought was salad dressing, searing it in a pan and then roasting it to a tender, melt in your mouth perfection topped with a diamond cut tomato, pepper and onion concoction he made up.

This is me: Deciding we really need a cream cheese frosting, and then stopping in my tracks when I realize my mixing bowl is too shallow to handle a mixer without splattering ingredients all over the counter.

This is my husband: Shunning the mixer entirely, putting the ingredients in the oven briefly so they soften, then mixing by hand a frosting of perfect consistency in between Redskin plays.

I am not quite sure why he is with me.

When my mother wants to know if we have an ingredient or utensil, she doesn't bother to ask me. She knows I probably don't know, or have never heard of it. I'll be in the middle of the sentence, "I don't think we have one" and my husband will announce that the spaghetti measuring thingie has been living in the second drawer to the left of the stove top every day we've lived in this house.


I can feed myself, but I can't cook. Meaning: I can follow a recipe, which, I've realized, is less cooking than, well, following a recipe. I'd love to know how to cook, to open a pantry and see raw ingredients and actually birth the concept of a delicious dinner. I can't do this. I open a cookbook, source a recipe, and then go to the grocery store because I'm missing something (or call my husband to ask what I can substitute).

My husband opens the pantry, peeks in the freezer, and invents. Several of his inventions have become regulars on our menu. On random Saturday afternoons, he invents sandwiches that would bring tears to your eyes. I used to make the mistake of telling him, "No thanks, I'll make my own." Then I'd sit with my sad looking ham slices while he feasted on a work of art. I've learned my lesson. If he is making anything - yes, I want some. Even if I don't want it that moment, I will want it eventually.

I am quite sure why I am with him.

Happy Anniversary, Mr.Mannerz. Bon Appetite.


Tulips said...

Are you sure you didn't write this about my household? Sans the culinary degree, it could very well be describing us.

Two Shorten the Road said...

This post made me hungry. :)

Brenna said...

Ah, the fortunate MzMannerz! I'd like to borrow your husband for a spin around our kitchen. Happy Anniversary (belated)!