The Good Country Wife
If my husband had known moving out to the country would cause me to cook more, we would have moved out here the day after we were married. Cindalicuous says “Just because she moves out the country for five days she thinks she knows about cooking.”
Well that’s what women who live in the country should know about right? So I am going to make myself and expert on it.
My knowledge of cooking is amateur at best. In the year and few months that I’ve been married my husband has continually ask me, “When are you going to learn how to cook?” I like and self respecting woman, responded the same every time. “I DO KNOW HOW TO COOK!” This was followed by a doubtful look on his part.
Part the issue of both of these comments is one; I do know how to cook. Two, I don’t know how to cook a lot of ‘black’ foods. Collard greens, grits, ham hocks? The first time I truly knew what those foods tasted like was under my husband’s tutelage. The flips side of this; I have caught the hubby measuring the ingredients for Kraft macaroni and cheese. Who does that? Someone who had never made boxed macaroni and cheese before he met me. EVER. Shocking.
Here is where our culinary worlds collide. Me, I have the basic skills. Give me any recipe; I can follow it pretty well. Everything created is edible. Him, if it doesn’t have to do with meat and potatoes, with a few added veggies, he’s not cooking. He’s probably not eating either. Snacks are the only meal where meat is not included. What a carnivore.
But there are amazing creations that come out of our differences. Like Italian salad with steak and spinach. Delicious. What about double dipped Smokehouse Maple Chicken strips? Yummy.
Tonight’s dinner menu was apple and sage pork chops, honey acorn squash and apple dumplings. Impressive huh!? Cue the clapping.
If you saw how I went about cooking you wouldn’t be so impressed. My rolling pin was a can of Pam, I almost seared my foot while switching the pans for the dumplings, and EVERY counter was covered in cooking apparatus. I did take a moment to show the hubby a proper cooking clean-up routine.
Me:“Hey baby come look at this.”
Me, while wiping down counters and loading the dish washer: “This is how it’s done, cleaning the kitchen while your food is finishing.”
Him: ‘Yeah. You’re a toolbag.” (Or something along those lines. Football was on so he didn’t pause long enough to see the beauty of the kitchen.)
That’s what I get for being the good country wife. Supper was splendid. Desert was scrumptious. He’ll thank me later.