Of all the mundane drop dead boring duties of domesticity I hate the most, it is cooking.
The mere fact that it is a task that has to be done consistently, like every day is enough to make me hate it, for I am NOT one for routine.
But when one has children, the law says, you have to feed them, so for 25 years now I have had to cook, every day.
People say to me “Oh but you are so creative…cooking is creative. You should enjoy cooking!”
Nobody eats my creative artwork and poops it out in the toilet the next day.
So you see, for me cooking is a waste of time.
You destroy it by masticating it in your mouth, your digestive system further destroys it – with acid, and the next day you are left contemplating the crack in the tile on the bathroom floor as it leaves your body and floats away to God knows where everybody’s “creative cookery” goes.
Waste of time.
Furthermore there is the added frustration of this one not liking mushrooms, this one can’t stand cheese, another can’t tolerate even the slightest hint of pepper, let alone CHILLI, and the other is counting the calories of everything that’s going in the pot.
Sometimes I get vengeful.
My dear other half does not know that for YEARS I have been putting VEGEMITE in my stews.
My stews, which are one thing I AM good at making – usually, served with insanely huge slices of yorkshire pudding, which everyone always complains there is “not enough of”.
You see….it’s like mixing a song.
You have to have a little bit of ‘bottom end” and vegemite is very bottomy.
At the “top end” is tomato….and I don’t like that much.
Fat and bottomy is how I like it.
I’m beginning to resemble my food.
I’m not a good cook because it’s such a waste of time standing around while things sizzle and grill and sauté and ….Geez! There’s so much other FUN stuff I could be doing, like writing songs, or playing with the endless assortment of exciting stuff in my craft room.
I can’t tell you how many pots I have destroyed over the years while boiling rice….
A song beckons….I go…..the smoke alarm sounds…Another pot bites the dust.
I’ve even cremated frozen pizza.
It looked like a manhole cover.
And meat…oh God do I hate handling meat.
I cut every bit of fat off everything!
Can’t stand meat with bones in it because that’s too confronting.
“Ok, I’m actually slicing flesh here….feeling it in my hands…..the flesh and muscle of a dead animal.”
No, to live in denial is the way I survive.
I hate the squiggly worm like look of minced beef.
I have to squeeze it out with my hands, (clean washed hands of course!) then mash it with a fork in the pan so there are no squiggles left.
I nearly vomit if I find one of those veiny tubes in steak. Usually it’s in rump steak.
They are white…..like some kind of VEIN.
Oh my God, I feel ill just typing that.
Fillet steak is safe….but too expensive for me to cremate.
Burn the shit out of it! That’s my motto!
Please don’t make me barf.
My husband likes his steak BLUE.
May as well go run round a paddock and take a bite out of a live cows arse.
I only eat meat because my family, with the exception of the calorie counting health nut, are insanely carnivorous and dry retch at the thought of anything “vegetarian”.
Bloody hell, there’s nothing wrong with BEANS!
As the kids have gotten older we have quite a few “scraps” nights.
“What’s for dinner mum?”
“Go dig some leftovers out of the garbage bin….just wipe the maggots off.’
A “scrap night” is really a “Get it yourself, whatever you can find .” night.
There are never any real scraps, as in “leftovers” in the fridge. Lord no. They disappear half an hour after they’ve been put in the fridge!
And anything that is easy to consume….like, open a packet and shove it in your mouth, or pick it up from the fruit bowl and eat it on the spot are rarities.
In fact….this is what I have to resort to in the fruit department.
The kids are all teenagers now….well, the eldest is 25 now.
They are beginning to cook things.
Praise the LORD!
My seventeen year old (calorie counter health nut) cooks amazing healthy things which I love, but her servings are ration sized…Beautifully presented though, but insanely meagre.
It’s a shame where her painstakingly arty presentations…..end up.
My eldest has been dubbed the Queen of Quiche.
In fact I don’t think she’s cooked anything else BUT quiche since she moved back home.
My 14 year old son can cook hamburgers and muffins.
Now, my husband is an AMAZING cook, but he’s gotten so lazy these days and it’s rare that he cooks, but when he does, oh Christ…..nobody wants to clean up after him!
It’s like he thinks he’s on a TV cooking show, you know with a separate bowl all laid out with each ingredient in it.
And he’s CRANKY, just like a chef! (who’s that one that swears all the time?)
Banging pots and pans around, yelling for us to find this or find that….Using his mortal pessle (I know what it’s called) as though he is murdering someone…..bashing something to death!
Herbs fly every which way…..Fat spit and sizzles…..flames leap out from under frying pans!
The other day my daughter made creme brulee…
My husband came out with his ‘blow torch” for the caramel on top bit. Mind you, this was not a tiny kitchen blow torch….it’s something that you would use for welding cars!
Flames shot out of this thing two feet long, the cat leaped out of it’s skin and tore out of the room…I ran for the fire extinguisher.
No….my husband doesn’t do things by half.
Half a chicken breast lays in the fridge.
Soon the kids will come home from school…
“What’s for dinner mum, I’m starving.”
I’m on strike.
There’s only so much chicken a person can eat anyway before you begin to sprout feathers and become broody.
I’m happy with beans on toast.