Random Blog A Musing Farf

Saturday, September 29, 2007

SWEET BASEBALL

Well it’s about time. After sliding into second place and perhaps beginning the biggest collapse in Major League Baseball history, the Mets finally won a game. And Philly is currently losing in the sixth inning. Thank freaking g-d. Seriously.

I laugh because, in a slight switch of traditional gender roles, Husband cleaned the apartment so I could watch the game. But then, as I stressed over the fact that the Mets could blow it again, I made cookies in order to relieve that stress and Husband drank beer. So, not only are the Mets likely responsible for any high blood pressure, they are also responsible for Husband and I getting fat. If they make it into the playoffs, all will be forgiven though.

Actually, I made the cookies because Sister made me feel guilty. Husband and I are having a little barbeque at our place tonight (likely the last one since we are now officially in contract on the new place and hopefully moving right after the new year) and when I told Sister that I was thinking of not serving dessert because, really, no one need it, she told me she is always a little sad at the end of a party when there is nothing sweet to eat. And, since I hate serving store bought desserts, I figured I would make cookies. She better eat 10 and gain a few pounds….

Plus, Husband made burgers (with all sorts of spices), is marinating chicken, made a salad and sautéed onions as a topping for the burgers. And, he made a corn soufflé as a side. I can’t let him get all the credit if we have amazing food. It’s funny, because as much as we pretty much eschew any pretense of splitting chores down typical man and woman chores, I can’t help but get defensive when Husband does all the cooking.

I am a really good cook. I come from a long line of really good cooks. My mother and grandmother both make amazing dishes and are master bakers. I can cook a Rosh Hashanah meal for 10 and have made Passover Seders on one-day notice. But since Husband and I have been dating, he does all the cooking and I do the baking. And we are watching our weight, so it has really turned into Husband doing all the cooking and me just eating and offering to do dishes.

Why does this bother me? I can’t figure it out. Why do I care if Husband is considered the cook in the family? I thought it was because I was being sidelined in a skill, but that’s not it. Husband really enjoys cooking and I don’t really love to do it as much. After a little soul searching, I really think it’s because I feel like less of a wife when Husband does all the cooking. I want to cook for my husband. I certainly don’t want to clean or sew or do other typical “girly” things. (Well, I want to learn to knit, but Sister mocks me for that so I have been reluctant to learn).

I did cook once for Husband. I made a trout when we were first dating. I like fish to be simple – maybe a little salt and pepper – but Husband likes things very spiced and with tons of different flavors. So, he offered his “advice” on how to make it better. I have never made him dinner since. Since then, he has cooked for me and I have been the dishwasher and occasional sous chef.

But, as much as I want to cook for Husband, maybe my current deal is not so bad. After all, I am the one watching the Phillys lose to the Nationals in the 7th inning and Husband is out making sure the chicken is properly scored.

2 comments:

mara clarke said...

Gender roles aside, there is something inherently loving in the act of preparing food for those that you love. Sometimes, with J’s crazy hours and my new-mom exhaustion, I threaten to stop making dinner. It would be easier – I could eat when baby A eats and I would not have to go to bed on a full stomach/stay up extra late to digest a meal eaten at 8 because J has worked late. But there is something about the act of selecting, preparing, and serving food – nay, nourishment – to the people I love that keeps me at it. So maybe you are like me in that regard.

That said, I know the exacting tastes of your spouse and can imagine he’d be hard to cook for. . . . .

Suzanne said...

Master bakers? Ha ha ha! (Yes, I need to grow up and/or get a life.) I'm sorry I missed the party, although I needed cookies like I needed a hole in my head. And may they fire Willie Randolph for not doing anything except sit there patiently while the team imploded.