I’m certain my wife is tired of being told how “lucky” she is (not by me!). I know who the lucky one is. While I was gallivanting around the country in the ’90s trying to build a career in sales and marketing, she was holding down the fort and raising three children (who, by the way don’t mind being told they are lucky!) practically solo. I’m the แทงบอลที่เว็บแทงบอลไหน
lucky one; she just chose well! Nonetheless, in stereotypical fashion, when we encounter friends and acquaintances in social settings, if the conversation comes around to food — and it often does — my wife gets to hear it, “You are sooooo lucky your husband cooks!” (Sounds like a kept woman to me!)
I’m a “foodie,” but let me say for the record, ANY spouse, man or woman, whose mate cooks three or more times a week is fortunate — doubly so if the quality of the food is consistently high (which would be the case at our house). My interest in food, particularly the preparation of same, goes back 30 years to my tuna noodle casserole days as a college student living on my own. My mother’s tuna noodle casserole was a staple in my house during my formative years, so when I rented my first apartment as a college sophomore, my roommates were introduced to Clara’s Tuna Casserole. I picked it because it was easy. The rest, as they say, is history.
After a couple years alternating between tuna casserole, hot dogs, Campbell’s chicken noodle soup and Domino’s pizza, it was time to kick things up a notch. After all, man cannot live on Domino’s alone! Having worked as a short order cook in high school at a popular home-town diner, I knew my way around a kitchen a little bit. I asked for one thing for Christmas in 1980 — a cookbook — and true to form, Santa came through with my very own Betty Crocker Cookbook (actually, it was from Mom). By then, I was sans roommates, so cooking for one wasn’t the most efficient, but nonetheless, I forged ahead, determined to expand my culinary horizon. Lo and behold, the quality of the leftovers began to improve!
I married my wife the summer after graduating from college, and I’ve been cooking for her ever since. My second cookbook — the classic New York Times Cookbook — was a gift from my mother-in-law. I was pretty handy with a sketch pad and a box of pastels as a kid, but I chose a non-artistic career path, so I believe my discovery of cooking was preordained. It allowed me to satisfy my creative tendencies while serving a genuinely practical function — we all gotta eat.
HOUSE RULE: You don’t have to finish it, but you at least have to try it.
That’s really the only hard-and-fast rule at the dinner table in our house, and it enabled us to greatly expand our children’s palates when they were youngsters. That can be a two-edged sword, for if I dared serve a meat dish without an accompanying sauce, I’d be sure to get the evil eye from my daughters. “What, Daddy, no sauce? May I be excused?” Ultimately, my children grew up with a tremendous appreciation for good food and the effort that goes into it, not to mention the importance of fresh ingredients.