Geoff (who I refer to as “G” or “the boy” and my therapist calls “the puppy” due to his dewy age) and I don’t get to see each other very often. We live together, but he works nights and weekends 5 days a week and I have a regular M-F, 8-5 schedule. So, on the two nights of the week that we’re both home we try to take turns cooking.
It was Geoff’s turn to make dinner last night. Around four o’clock I get a text at work:
Bbq chicken, mashed potatoes and corn. Sound good?
Trying to be a bit healthier lately I reply:
Lose a starch and add a green veggie and it’s fine.
You should really let me make you mashed potatoes sometime.
Um, I said lose one starch, you can pick which one.
Corn is a veggie.
Wow. Yeah. That’s right. He just told me corn was a veggie. Naturally, because let’s face it, I can be a quippy little thing, I write back:
Corn is a grass, in the grain family. Google it.
No response. Oops. That night I come home from work and G’s marinating chicken breasts in barbeque sauce, chopping potatoes (skin on) and has a large clump of asparagus washed, trimmed and ready in the steamer basket. Perfect. Guess he didn’t take that “Google it” text too hard after all.
I sit down on the couch, drinking a tartly delicious strawberry margarita that G made and prepare to relax. And by relax, I mean backseat cook. G is by no means an expert cook, but he’s not a complete amateur either (sometimes he even has to cook at work). However, he is still learning my way (read the right way) to cook, so he asks questions. I take these questions as an invitation to give long, detailed opinions on how things should be done.
For example: Do you want the asparagus steamed or grilled? You’d think one word would suffice, but no. I have to say, “Steamed, because asparagus have such a delicate flavor that the smoke from the grill really overpowers them and then it’s not like you’re even eating asparagus, but some slightly crunchy piece of char.”
Or also in example: How do you like your potatoes? Smooth, lumpy, what? I say, “I only like them mashed with a potato masher. Not a fork. Not a mixer. And certainly not my Kitchenaid. That’s the only way to get them smooth enough, but not gluey.”
Seriously, how does he put up with me? Or the better question might be why…
Any who, dinner was lovely and we ate while watching Cat Cora lose Iron Chef America (which is just weird to me, she never loses) and then I fell into a food/tequila semi-coma for the remainder of the evening. Bliss.
Now, you ask, why am I telling you this story? Well, to promote my friend’s blog, of course. Please go and check out RouxBarb: Recipes for Disaster. It’s one of the funniest new food blogs to hit the interwebs. In it, the aptly named RouxBarb chronicles her John’s attempts to provide one edible meal a week. Why is he doing this? Read the first installment to find out!