Oh, that dreaded question, you know, the one that generally gets asked every. single. day; “What’s for dinner?” Unless you are someone who unequivocally adores cooking, and I know no one who resides in that category, the dinner question could lead to fits of rage, accompanied by hair pulling, snarling, and eye-rolling. Okay, I may be exaggerating somewhat, but the planning, preparing, serving, and clean up associated with mealtime can be exhausting.
Cooking has never been one of my favorite activities, and I wasn’t at all competent in the kitchen during the early years of our marriage. Back then the dinner repertoire included Kraft Macaroni & Cheese served with Spam, Chef Boyardee Ravioli, Campbell’s Pork and Beans with sliced hot dogs, Chef Boyardee Lasagna Dinner Kit, Banquet Pot Pies, frozen fish sticks that I tried to serve with grits (it’s a Southern thing y’all), but my husband would have none of that business, tuna salad, egg salad sandwiches, and not much else.
My mother did her best to teach me how to cook, but I definitely had no interest in spending any more time in the kitchen than absolutely necessary. There was one categorically horrible dinner when I attempted, not of my own choosing, to make stuffed Cornish game hens. There were probably two liquid cups of tears mixed with a dash of yelling that night. It was years before I could even be in the same room with a Cornish hen without breaking into hives.
Fortunately for my husband’s sake, spending most weekends in the kitchen with his mother and sister who prepared everything from scratch, eventually lead to a cooking transformation in his young bride. By the time our children were born, Chef Boyardee and his crew were no longer welcome at our dinner table. As our family got older, my cooking skills continued to improve, but meal-preparation remained a necessity, never a passion. I enjoyed feeding my family and relished seeing their appreciation, but the pleasure ended there.
As the children grew up and left for college, we faced new dilemmas; the transition from feeding five to four wasn’t too difficult, but the drop to three created a juggling act between too much food and not enough. Then suddenly, I was working full time, while attending Texas State University full time, and still managing the kitchen. Around the same time my husband transitioned to a more flexible job, so he graciously assumed many of the household responsibilities, including cooking.
It’s been six years since our youngest child left for college and six years since I graduated from college. Still, if I were left to my own devices, dinner would remain an issue. I cooked faithfully for over twenty-five years, and having been relieved of that duty, I’ve undeniably no desire to resume the role. If I never cooked again, it would be too soon.
When my husband entered graduate school a few years ago, the cooking dilemma resurfaced. School took a lot of his time, leaving him barely time to sleep and shower. Our poor children didn’t know what to do with themselves when they came home from college because not only did we rarely cook, the kitchen shelves were no longer stocked the way they had been when five people resided in the house. Obviously we all survived.
I’m absolutely content eating Raisin Bran, canned soup or sandwiches if it means no cooking. Oh sure, sometimes spaghetti and mushrooms sound fabulous, but not so magnificent that I’m willing to actually fix it. So, the question remains, perhaps for eternity, “What’s for Dinner?” Fortunately for us, grad school is two years in our rearview so the reserve cook is back in the kitchen most weeknights.
Until Next Time,
Becky J Miller
“Warrior Princess”