When my wife and I got together for the first time, we came back from the shops hungry and I offered to make a stir-fry for her. I really wanted to impress her with something “cheffy”, so while she was taking a quick shower (hoping dinner would be ready soon after), I spent an inordinate amount of time watching YouTube videos with titles like “How to raise your agitation”. fry and fly your guests ”. I was desperate to learn how to do this, despite the fact that if a guest claimed to be impressed by a skip dinner, I would apologize for taking a long look in the bathroom mirror for inviting such a rarefied idiot. first.
When dinner was finally ready, I called my wife to the table, at which point she proceeded to eat it in the manner best described as “full of rage.” Once finished, he told me that the stir fry was supposed to be quick, that any minor improvement in flavor did not justify the amount of time it took to prepare, and that the number of pans and dishes he had used in the making process. It was “unacceptable” – a fair assessment, considering that the plate is named after the only tray it is supposed to be prepared on.
Since then, my wife has done most of the cooking, at her insistence. Sometimes I am allowed to cook, but she has to prepare mentally, and I must sign a waiver confirming that I will not try to make a meal again for at least 12 months.
The result is twofold: our friends accuse me of being a chauvinist who reinforces patriarchy and our children have grown up thinking that my wife’s way of doing things is the best. She is a very good cook, don’t get me wrong, but there are some things we disagree on. Have salsa. She likes hers to be like a tasty flan; basically no pour. You have to put it with a spoon and spread it over the food with a knife. He used to live in the north and he likes thick sauce, even by northern standards. I find this absolutely disgusting, so much so that we have two batches of sauce, one for me, who enjoys her sauce like other humans do, and a larger one for her and the children, who have been brought up to believe that the sauce should be doubled. as a bath sealer.
Two weeks ago, I told my wife that I wanted to start cooking more, mainly so that the children would see that men can cook too. She agreed to give me a chance, and I decided to make sausage, mash, and veggies as a simple dinner to please the crowd. I thought I could win over the family with a quality puree, so I made something more like an applesauce. My intention was to offer a spectacular dinner, to make the boys prefer my cuisine, to make my wife doubt herself and ultimately undermine her self-esteem, the ingredients of any great marriage.
I sat down to wait for the applause of my mash, much smoother and richer, to come rolling. They never did. Instead, a number of complaints arose about how my potatoes were too creamy and how they preferred them a bit rougher and lumpier. My children have become radicalized. I sat there fuming as my family struggled to eat the silkiest mashed potatoes ever served, before my wife asked the children to give me a condescending applause for my efforts. When she looked particularly cocky later that night, I resisted the urge to tell her that I thought she had trained the boys to have less sophisticated palates. There’s only one thing: I’m going to start insisting on two batches of mash.
George is Digismak’s reported cum editor with 13 years of experience in Journalism