The kitchen and I have never been good friends. Jody was a marvelous chef and created many brilliant meals for me over the years. As for this entity, I was an incredible dishwasher. But I’ve never learned to cook.
Since moving into my condo six months ago, I’ve wanted to have friends over for dinner but I’ve been too scared. What would I feed them? How would I do this and how would I do that? You can’t just wash dishes – you have to present the yummies.
Farm Boy has been my frequent rescuer with tasty dinners. On Wednesday, I walked in there and threw myself on the mercy of the manager. I was so embarrassed and she was so kind. “Happens all the time. Gentlemen who don’t know what to do. We give good advice.” Whew. My heart slowed down a mite. And I left the store with a plan: mesquite chicken, oven roast potatoes and corn with coriander. Not to mention a kale salad and something called maple cream pie.
Now it’s yesterday, and I realized in all my months in the condo, I’d never washed a pot. The dishes from the few little faux meals were gobbled up by my dishwasher. When I left Jody’s and my home last summer, I got rid of a lot of little things, such as a dish rack.
Here I was, worrying about how to dry pans, how to warm things up in the oven, and where the heck was the corkscrew for the wine. Goodness. I ventured forth to the supermarket and found a small white dish rack. It sat proudly on my counter overnight. This morning, however, it looked wrong. (Remember, I’m the professional dishwasher. I should know this stuff.) It finally hit me – I didn’t buy the accompanying drain board. Silly me. Back to the store. Unfortunately, the only drain boards they had were black, even though they sold white racks. Arghh. To another supermarket I went and now the two white folks sit companionably in the kitchen.
Okay, I’m exhausted. Dinner is tomorrow at six and somewhere in a celestial realm, Julia Child is cluck-cluck-clucking at me. (Sigh)
And then my dear wife’s voice to the rescue: “It’s okay, Bruce. All is well. Your guests won’t die tomorrow night. In fact, they’ll enjoy themselves.” Thank you, Jodiette. Perhaps I’m overreacting just a tad.
How can I be so confident in some areas of life
and so plastered with sweat in others?
I don’t know
Maybe just a human being being human