Done Cooking!

I like to eat as much as most people, but I’ve lost interest in cooking. When I’m hungry I want to eat right then and not wait or work for a meal. I’d rather look at a menu in a good restaurant than peer inside my refrigerator wondering what to put together, how much time it will take, how much of a kitchen clean-up will be required, and what is on the verge of spoiling if I don’t eat it today.

I found a hand-crafted sign in a thrift shop that I couldn’t pass up. It belonged in my home.

Keep this kitchen clean

EAT OUT!

It hangs in my kitchen where all can see.

After too many years to count when my home was Grand Central Station for family gatherings on special occasions, when groaning tables held food, labor-intensively prepared and quickly consumed, with kitchen clean-ups (gladly shared labor,) I feel I am justified in calling it quits. But I have yet to find a satisfactory solution. I’ve tried all the single portion cardboard-contained frozen meals I care to and I’ve run out of options.

My bachelor brother who lived in Minnesota used to go deer hunting once a year, get his quota, have the meat processed in packages for his freezer, and every week take out enough to make a large slow-cooker stew with vegetables and gravy. He’d then package it in single meal portions to take to his office in the County courthouse, heat it in a microwave oven there and eat it with a slice or two of buttered bread. Every day. It worked for him, but would not be my answer.

I’ve toyed with the idea of eating my main meal out at restaurants every day. I’d bring home half to be consumed the next day. That might work but I’m not sure it would be economical. 

When I took over housekeeping and cooking as a fourteen year old after my mother had passed on I could get a meal together in no time. Pork chops, mashed potatoes, a can of peas or corn, a stack of bread and butter, and whatever I did pleased my dad and younger brothers, especially if I’d baked a cake  or pie for dessert.

As a young bride my husband bought me The Joy of Cooking cookbook. I decided my plain cooking would not do so I’d choose recipes for the evening meal, list the ingredients necessary, go to the market and buy them, re-read the recipes and gauge the time for preparation of each, and write it all down with a time table. Then I’d tidy the house, get myself dressed for dinner, put on an apron and get to work. I’d set the table carefully with candles and a centerpiece, follow my hand-written time-table, and be ready to greet my hubby when he got home from work and finish up the last minute things like warming the dinner rolls, getting the salad out of the fridge and filling water glasses. 

Now, there’s nothing like sitting down opposite a new husband and watching him eat your very own cooking. Nothing like it was for me. To my consternation, the man I’d chosen to love and obey could not tell a lie. Not even a little white lie. We’d talk about this and that and the meal would be only half consumed before I’d give in to asking: “Well, Honey, how do you like the dinner?” His answer was, “Oh, the potatoes are good, but the squash is a bit under-done and the meat is rather tough, don’t you think?”

After a few responses like that I learned not to ask until one night I broke down and asked again with the same general response. Then I  pleaded, “Wally, if you knew how hard I’m trying to please you, how hard it is to make everything taste just right, couldn’t you just once tell me it was good, really good, even if it wasn’t?” Then he got a pained expression on his face and said, “Well, gosh, if I did that I’d get it again!” I couldn’t help it, I just laughed. After that I did what I should have done all along. I gathered tried and true recipes from relatives and friends. Found a few favorites, and through the years built up a reputation for being a wonderful cook.

In 1998 after being widowed for twelve years I surprised myself and my family by getting married again. Dr. Robby, he was known as by his students in college.  (My children had all taken geology in his classes, but this was more than twenty years prior.) I met him for the first time at an adult summer session at the same college and within three weeks we were married. His first wife, Barbara, had been an excellent cook. I knew I couldn't compete but had a few favorites of my own he liked. Curried shrimp on rice, beef stroganoff,  etc. and I did enjoy cooking for two. Sometimes I'd give Robby a couple of suggestions. "Shall we have spaghetti today or would you prefer a hamburger and potato salad?" After a few moments of studied thought he'd look up and say with a grin, "Let's go out to eat, shall we?" He knew that was music to my ears! We'd have the delightful few minutes of choosing among our favorite restaurants and then out the door.

But now I’m alone again and done cooking. No fun cooking for one. No fun busting a gusset for company either. There’s a generation under me that has taken over. I’ll bring a special dish to one of their homes for a potluck dinner at most. Their kitchen, not mine, is teeming with people, male and female, who love to cook and chat when doing the clean-up work. I sit in an easy chair and play the part of Grandma and Great Grandma to the hilt. If I don’t have a baby or toddler in my lap I just sit and smile and secretly pat myself on the back. Being the matriarch of the family is pretty nice even if I'm not the hub. It beats being alone or just another spoke in the wheel of some retirement home. I still have my own little quiet nest, however, and the only thing I lack is a plan for quick, painless and nourishing dinners with little or no clean-ups. When I work that out I’ll let you know.