Saturday, March 14, 2015

Cooking lessons.

Some people pay to take cooking lessons.

I cook to learn lessons. Most are humbling. Some are delicious.

Lesson 1: Beauty is in the stomach, not eyes, of the beholder. Because no matter how hard I try, my visual presentation on a plate is sub-par. The taste, however, is (usually) delicious. If I served my meals to a large group of the blind, the meals might be considered culinary masterpieces. Luckily, my husband eats food so quickly, that who has time for admiring plate decoration? And we chop up all the food for the daughter, thereby turning a meal full of decadant colors and textures into something resembling pig-slop. She hasn't complained too much, though I try not to be offended when she drops food to the dog.

Lesson 2: Old habits do indeed die hard. The husband loves RedHot. "He puts that stuff on everything". No matter what I cook, he wants hot sauce to add on top. He used to ask for it without hesitation. Being the loving, dutiful wife that I am, I usually told him to shove it. He eventually learned his lesson and eats most meals sans hot sauce, but sometimes I sense the question is on the tip of his tongue, as his eyes dart frantically to the fridge. Whether I get up and offer him some depends on how long it took me to cook the meal. If it's over 30 minutes, tough luck.

Lesson 3: Rome wasn't built in a day. Just as many meals are not made in a half-hour, despite what Food Network tries to convince me. I can't chop an onion finely in less than 2 minutes. I just can't. (I'm showing what an amateur cook I am, aren't I?)

Lesson 4: A successfull marriage requires falling in love many times, always with the same person. Do my dishes, and I love you. Every time I cook, Daniel does the dishes.  Melts this little home-maker's heart, and, thankfully, it saves me from excessively dry hands.

Lesson 5: Don't cry over spilled milk. But do cry over a burnt casserole, egg shells in the batter, and the inability to grate carrots without slicing open an appendage.

I do love cooking. I can't draw, or paint, or sculpt, or even have an intelligent conversation about art, but I consider cooking my one creative flair.

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