Getting lucky in the kitchen

I was 8 when I started making lettuce, mayonnaise, pepper and salt sandwiches. My father referred to them lovingly as ‘air sandwiches’ and at one point refused to let me eat them unless I slapped a piece of ham on there too; therein started the beginning of the end of my commitment to culinary excellence. No way was I ever going to slap anyone’s ham because I was instructed to do so… in my view, regardless of the protein item in question (baloney, tube steak, ham etc) meat slapping was then, and still remains a private and personal choice.

When I was 18 I went on a road trip to Daytona beach. We intended to tent camp while we were there but on the first night we were hit with several tornadoes. We had to round up some cash to move into a shady motel and because we had only brought enough money for camping and booze, there certainly was not enough money for food! It was on this trip I discovered eating Chef Boy R’Dee, cold and out of a can was the most cost efficient and easy solution… heck I could even use a plastic fork… no dishes! I wondered… were the tornadoes a personal message to me from God? Did the Almighty himself want me to know that eating could be just this simple? 79 cents a can … no fuss no muss.

My standard of culinary commitment essentially is: ‘what do I need to do to ensure my family does not get scurvy?’ I mean really, what should the standard be? I have never seen a love-meter in a family home which only rises when homemade ravioli stuffed with organic chicken and foot stomped red sauce is served. I can certainly appreciate when someone takes the time to prepare a delicious meal, but I most often find that the person who prepares is sits at the dinner table, hands neatly crossed in front of them not eating until everyone has taken their first bite. The cook sits in wait, remaining silent and stoic until the inevitable compliments and accolades come flowing in one by one from the diners. Only then will the cook smile and pick up a fork after professing, “oh it was nothing really”. Gross. More than once I have watched this happen and when it’s my turn to praise I will start coughing and waving my hands in an ‘don’t worry I’m okay’ kind of way , before the obligatory praise consisting of ‘mmmmm… yummy’. I love the look on the cook’s face when they think that their meal has made someone choke or gag. Immature perhaps but if feeding an ego is the purpose, then I just can’t subscribe. Personally, I would hate to define myself through other people’s opinions about the appropriate firmness level or saltiness of my red snapper.

Ironically, my children and I have bonded significantly through my complete inability to cook well. My oldest son and I still laugh about my attempt at a recipe I took out of the 4 ingredient cookbook. I only had 2 of the ingredients so I tried to wing it. We now refer to that evening’s meal as ‘meat blob’... need I say more? More than once I have beat the fire alarm with household items such as brooms and hockey sticks as it seems that even the simplest act of me turning on the stove to boil water sets off the alarm. In every instance, these situations send my kids into gales of laughter. What other family activity brings together children more than a joint appreciation of the incompetence of their parents? Yes, I am useless in the kitchen… lucky me.