I just want you to know, it's a vicious lie. I cook. I do. I feed my family and everything. So if some skinny guy claiming to be my husband shows up and tells you that I don't... you can't believe him. Why, just tonight we had taquitos for dinner! With sour cream, salsa and guacamole! And last night was Annie's mac n' cheese and even...salad!
Ok, so yeah it's true that I don't cook as much in the summer. I mean, really, do you like to heat the house all up with the oven when it is 90 degrees outside? Me, either. And it just makes our air conditioner work that much harder. Tell him to quit sniveling. Besides, the only reason for a job is so you can buy food. Food that you personally don't have to cook or clean up after.
Don't get me wrong, I like to cook I really do. But some cosmic joker thought it would be real funny to time my childrens' meltdowns with the dinner hour. It is really difficult to wax poetic about creation and EVOO when you are trying to keep the little darlings from pulling each others' hair out by the roots.
"JBear, no, you can't throw your sister off the loft bed! No! I don't care if she took your stuffed animal. Maiming her in retaliation is NOT okay!"
Given this onslaught, is it any wonder I don't play more Food Network Fanatic? I am a decent cook. I can find my way around in my kitchen. I don't often burn food. People like what I cook. But have you ever tried to stir fry anything with a cacophony of
"GIVE IT BACK! I'M TELLING! YOU BETTER NOT! MOOOOMMMY! NO! DON'T DO.... SCREEEEEEEEEEEEEEEECH!"
in the background? I swear, Alton Brown never had to contend with that! I can't tell you how many times I have been jarred into spilling food all over myself based upon that car-alarm scream! At some point, after the third time of turning the heat off on stir-fry, mind you! in order to go running down the hall, hoping to divert a disaster, you end up throwing the whole soggy mess down the sink and fetch fast food!
Someday, I am going to cook again. Life will be more than, "Quick, what can I make them before they can tear the house apart?" I broil a good piece of fish, and I serve that frequently. I marinate chicken, and they like that. But everything I do is fast and dirty. It has to be. The last thing I need to be is hauled into court as the prosecutor looks at me and asks, eyes beady over his horn-rimmed glasses: "And what were you doing while the children killed one another/burned the house down/streaked naked through the neighborhood??" Fixing dinner seems like a lame excuse.
I need to keep my wits about me. So for now, it's cook as fast as I can. Spaghetti, fish, chicken, things that require a minimum of prep. And the occasional fast food run is thrown in for good measure. (not that the kids mind that) As they get older, there will be more gourmet-type fare. Until then, maybe I will see you at Taco Bell. I'll be the one with sauce down my shirt and the wild look in my eye.
T, who would like an Alice like in the Brady Bunch