A little bit of background on how the harmonious truce developed over many, many 'discussions'. And like so many diplomatic agreements between nuclear countries, it's not perfect but it works. For now. When the boy and I met I was still in college and relishing my body's ability to take whatever I gave it (beer/cheeseburgers/more beer) and stay relatively skinny and carefree. The boy recognized the situation and went about 'fixing' it with gourmet meals and ingredients to help wean me away from the world of food that came wrapped in paper and cost roughly two bucks.
Yep. This is how they reel you in ladies.
Unfortunately, in the blessed haze of young love induced-delirium something very important was miscommunicated. My general unwillingness to cook did not constitute an inability to cook. Ours being a generally equitable relationship I soon felt the need to contribute to our daily meals.
Didn't I do a great job ordering this?
Alas, it was not to be. Apparently pizza three times a week is frowned upon in some societies.
So now I really had to start cooking at home for real "like a grown up" which implied all manner of grocery shopping, and utensil dirtying and taking "some people's aversion to perfectly normal food" into consideration. (though here my husband would interject something about Other people's unreasonable pickiness, but it's not his blog so he won't) This all was a learning curve in and of itself. However, having lived on my own since graduating high school I felt fairly confident that I had the rudimentary skills needed for things like knives, pans, tempered glass baking sheets. Hahaha, silly girl! How wrong, terribly wrong and naive you were.
The boy and I come from two very different cultural circles and if there was a pie chart of how much energy went into navigating those waters it would look something like this:
The land he grew up in had both specified utensils for other specified utensils for specific jobs. The rubber coated things go on the Teflon coated things but the metal things can be used against metal things but not against ceramic things.
In my world you grabbed what worked that was closest to what you were doing.
His method preserved utensils so that they could one day be passed down to his great-grandchildren embodying tales of epic history. Or so I guess.
My method. Well, my method saved lives. More specifically, his life. (see, I can be specific too!)
A typical evening of my cooking dinner would begin thus-
Me cooking dinner. Boyfriend slides in to grab a taste of what's on the stove.
Boy: Mmm, what is this?
Me: Something with mushrooms. Maybe some tomatoes, not really sure. (chopping vegetables)
Boy: It could use some salt.
Me: Well it's not done yet. I'm not sure what I'll put in it.
He glances over to watch me cutting. Winces.
Me: Whatever, I saw that. What am I doing wrong?
Boy: alksdjfasdfwaeihjr lknlkdfhjpwiefr
I am sure he is using words here but I am not really into the latest culinary critique.
Me: I'm sorry, did you want to be doing this?
Boy: I didn't say that.
Me: Then why are you in here?
Boy: Just visiting. (begins stirring vegetables. adding seasoning. and fucking salt.)
Me: (mentally stabbing him) You know, I got this.
Boy: I was just trying to help.
Me: Oh believe me, I know. Also, that sex later. Canceled.
Which is why it's so funny that I ever managed to get knocked up!
Now I can look back at those younger days and laugh at the fact. Well, the fact that both of us survived mostly.