The Art of Cooking by Proxy

My men have usually started out hard core non-cooking men and for the first part of our relationships this has been all dandy for me. I have sort of enjoyed playing The Little Housewife, ironing their shirts and cooking up three course meals, but this usually wears quite thin after as the first romantic months of the relationship passes. After that I start planning how I shall rid myself of the burden of everyday cooking (though I still enjoy throwing the odd dinner party for appreciative guests).


Over the years I have devised a cunning three step plan which is almost fool proof.

1. First major occasion with an excuse for gifting larger items, buy them a whopping big grill with all the bells and whistles to go with it.
   
   There is something about men and fires. They seem genetically programmed to be drawn to it and once the flames turns to embers they will start scouring the house for something to put on them.
   
2. Make sure the kitchen is always well stocked with the perfect food to throw on "the barbie". Since you're trying to train your man to cook, you should start out with large chunks of beef and then slowly turning him over to such delicacies as marinated aubergine and similar. If you live in a suburban area you could encourage him to join up with the other chaps for "barbie" marathons. Remind me to tell you all about the year of the Great Barbie Competition in our neighbourhood sometime!
   
   By now he should be sufficiently trained on dinners. All you need to do when the winter comes is to smile sweetly and tell him that he's such a wizz with the meat/veggies/fish - couldn't he see if he could replicate some of that masterfulness with the grill pan? Most men will rise to the occasion.
   
3. Get into the habit of having a full cooked breakfast every day. It is a well known fact that men are more likely to sort breakfast out if it is a cooked one. Alternatively, if the thought of all that grease and bacon turns your stomach, cuddle up to him like a kitten in the morning and whisper sweetly in his ear that being served breakfast in bed makes you feel like a Princess and this makes you HOT. 

This plan will work for most men, occasionally you may have to revise it - as I had to do for Husband. The way to get him into the kitchen lay more in lines of hard nosed refusal on doing certain things, on my behalf.

- No, you filthy minded person! Not That! That I do willingly, if not wantonly!

I simply refuse to cook offal, and later on to clean!

Baa Baa black sheep

As everyone knows I have a heroic Husband who isn't just a house work machine but extremely supportive of me as well. What most people don't know is that he is a shopaholic. 


Seriously, he's a nightmare in the shops! Granted, he does find the most amazing bargains but our bank accounts tremble in fear every time he hits the shops on his own. 

If it was only clothes, electronic goods, books and other items he went shopping for it might not have been so bad but it's food. His habit is making me fat! It's all his fault, I have to eat what he brings home so that the freezer won't overflow.


The other day we went shopping and came home with a sheep. Dead serious, we bought a whole sheep. We'll be eating lamb till Kingdom come, but at least it's kind of nice.


There is a roast, roughly 70 lamb chops, ribs and stewing meat. I'm just going to have to burn some of it to be relieved from the burden of cooking. 

Surrendered Wife

I'm a surrendered wife. Not of the 1990's version (does anyone still remember those?) but a 2011 version. I have surrendered all housework to Husband.

See, Husband has proved to be quite a wizz with that sort of thing. He swoops around the house, picks up bits and pieces, seems down right proud of his clean kitchen floor and spotless coffee table. Me, I quite enjoy the sight, but it's not enough to give me an urge to follow his example.

Having spend more or less all of my adult life trying to become a Domestic Goddess, but always falling sadly short, I completely gave in a few months back. "Sod it!" I thought. I didn't care if the dishes weren't done (never did, really, but always felt guilty for not caring), couldn't be bothered making the bed (ditto) and decided to simply just let it be - it would sort itself out somehow. And, you know what? It did!

One morning I came home from work - one of my jobs is a night job - and the kitchen was spotless. Had Nigella moved in? Had Saint Delia suddenly appeared on our door step begging for a job as a housekeeper? Nope, Husband had had enough!

The plan couldn't have worked better had I actually planned it!

So, these days Husband takes care of all things housey, apart from cooking and baking. Though baking I am banned from after last weekend, when I left the spatulas and bowls in the sink and the flour turned to concrete. Cooking I'm still trusted with, but as my food - look wise - mainly resembles something that even Oliver Twist would turn his nose up at it's just a matter of time. The taste is fine, though, so as long as I keep the lighting dim it's edible. Thinking of that, some new surgical lights may be in order. It's the highest fashion, isn't it?