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bork bork bork!

2003-03-27 - 11:01 a.m.

In what is possibly a life-affirming urge arising out of the terror of war, yet more likely a life-saving urge arising out of the terror of my bank balance, I've started cooking. On a semi-regular basis, even. Last night I made cornflake chicken, pasta with garlic and olive oil and green beans with lemon juice. We sat at the table. I sat on one chair, R sat on another, and the cat sat on yet a third. It was ridiculously like a little family. "She's so well behaved," I thought. "Really, the perfect daughter." Relax, we did not feed her from the table. Even I have my limits.

But I've discovered I like the domestic side of cooking. I like preparing fresh and semi-healthy food for our little family. This weekend I have every intention of roasting a chicken.* Last night I felt all smart and original as I slavishly followed the steps my friend the gourmet chef takes to make her pasta and green beans cross the line from ordinary to fare that would make a king (or my husband) say "That's not half bad."

After cooking, I clean the kitchen. The massage therapist warned me "You'll be a 60-year-old woman doing all the cooking and cleaning." To which I replied "Possibly. But as long as he's a 60-year-old man doing all the laundry, I think it's even." Because this domesticity thing doesn't extend to laundry. I did my own laundry for 2.5 years--my senior year in high school, my freshmen year in college, and a valiant 6 month effort after first meeting the husband. He has been doing my laundry for over 5 years. Let's hear it for the boy; let's give the boy a hand.

I've yet to cook dinner for more than 3 nights in a row. We'll work on increasing my endurance. My speed, if I do say so myself, doesn't need much work. I can prepare a healthful, delicious meal in under 40 minutes. Which is actually less time than it takes to order a nonhealthful (yet infinitely more delicious) meal from the Thai restaurant. Speaking of which, I haven't had Thai in over a month and am now struck with a mighty and ferocious craving for yellow chicken curry and crsipy fried duck with basil. In fact, I'm starving just thinking about it.

Robyn Bell once told me I had a gift for writing about food (after I fed her baked goods). If you feel you share this gift, please leave a recipe in my guestbook. Mind you, it should be very easy and quick and not contain exotic ingredients.

*Intentions being what they are, you may well expect to see that chicken roasting--in hell. In hell, my children, in hell.


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