W when my wife and I first met we came back from the stores hungry and I offered to make her stir fry.really impress her with something 'shocking' and so while she was taking a quick shower (hoping dinner was ready soon after) I spent an awful lot of time watching videos YouTube with headlines like “How to Elevate Your Fuss - Fry and Wow Your Guests”. I was desperate to learn how to do this, despite the fact that if a guest claimed to be blown away by a skip dinner, I would apologize for taking a long hard look in the bathroom mirror for inviting such a rarefied round in the first place.
When dinner was finally ready I called my wife over to the table, how good she was. started eating it in a way best described as "full of rage ". Having finished, she told me that the stir-fry was supposed to be quick, that any minor improvement in taste did not justify the time I took to prepare it, and that the number of casseroles and aThe dishes I used in the manufacturing process were "unacceptable " - a fair assessment, given that the dish is named after the only pan in which it is supposed to be prepared.
Since then my wife has done most of the cooking, at her insistence. Occasionally I am allowed to cook, but she has to mentally prepare herself and I have to sign a waiver confirming that I will not attempt to prepare a meal for at least 12 months.
The result is twofold: our friends accuse me of being a chauvinist who reinforces patriarchy, and our children have grown up thinking that my wife's way is the best. She is a very good cook, don't get me wrong, but there are some things we don't agree with. Take some sauce. She likes hers to be like a tasty pastry cream; it is basic ly does not pour. You have toput it with a spoon and spread it over the food with a knife. She lived in the north and loves its thick sauce, even by northern standards. I find it absolutely disgusting - so much so that we have two batches of sauce - one for me, who enjoys its sauce like other humans, and a larger one for her and the kids, who were raised to believe the sauce should. double. as a bathroom putty.
Two weeks ago, I told my wife that I wanted to start cooking more, mainly so that children can see that men are allowed to cook too much. She agreed to give me a chance, and I decided to make bangers, mash and veg as a simple supper that everyone will love. I thought I could woo the family with some quality mash, so I made something more akin to apple mash. My intention was to deliver supper tobreathtaking, so the boys can prefer my cooking, make my wife doubt herself and ultimately undermine her self-esteem - the ingredients of any good marriage.
I sat waiting for the applause for my much smoother and richer mash. They never have. Instead, a series of complaints came about that my potatoes were too creamy and they preferred them a bit rougher and lumpier. My children have become radicalized. I was sitting there fuming as my family struggled to eat the silkiest mashed potatoes ever served, before my wife asked the boys to patronize me for my efforts. When she looked particularly arrogant later that night, I resisted telling her that I thought she had trained children to have less sophisticated palates. There is only one thingto do: I will start to insist on two batches of mash.