There is a cartoon hanging on our fridge in which a man is looking inside a refrigerator. The fridge is filled with butter, on every, single shelf. The bubble above his head says, “Hon, where’s the butter?”
Oh, the irony! Yes, dear reader, I can relate. My husband is a wonderful cook, but his schedule means I am the main Betty Crocker around here. Recently I have tried to get him more involved, at least in meal planning. It went well the first week; this week not so much.
His contribution yesterday was to ask whether we had stuff to make a salad to go with the homemade turkey soup I was making. (No. We had sliced English cucumbers on the side, thank you very much.) He also suggested I go to the bakery for a baguette instead of making the corn muffins I had planned. With a slight grudge I stopped on the way to my daughter’s piano class (which you know, moms, meant dealing with yet another parking meter and yet another round of coaxing the kid in and out of the car, navigating the seat belt, etc.) to the bakery, only to discover it was closed.
Sigh. Dinner turned out fine. But I had to laugh this past weekend when he did take over in the kitchen and made a super great lamb tagine seemingly out of thin air. (Well the truth is, he realized later that the whole thing was supposed to bake in the oven for 1.5 hours AFTER the stove top preparations, and he was missing some key ingredients, but it turned out delicious anyway!)
The part that made me laugh was it had been awhile since he had cooked a proper meal and he kept calling to me from the kitchen. Did we have gluten-free all-purpose flour? (Yes, top pantry shelf.) Did we have lemons? Did we have rosemary? (Yes, I am half way through reorganizing our spices.) Did we have butter?
This is an original Jersey Moms Blog post. Theta Pavis is a freelance editor and poet. She blogs about dinner with her family at Kasha and the Chaos and dreams of eating out at least three nights a week.