Chef BoyRdee

I kind of like to cook. I like to plan meals, purchase ingredients, fret and stew all day, and that goes for the food too. It's better when it's just me working in the kitchen until extra hands are needed for rolling out pie crust, kneading bread dough, or tossing a salad. Then I love being surrounded by a whole bunch of biological family and chosen family. We'll have wine, several carafes of coffee, appetizers, and a big meal followed by a wonderful dessert. This typically occurs on a Sunday when...

Okay, okay. I give. Really, that's admittedly romantic. It presupposes that I can devote that much attention to a particular task without distraction. It's based on an assumption that we have more in the pantry than pinto beans and peanut butter. Even more realistic, it presumes that the laundry is done, and that you can walk through the front door without having to use a shovel at the shoe pile.

My Monday through Friday routine is also hardly romantic. Each day is a an endless loop of Plan the food, Prepare the food, Serve the food, Clean-up the food, and roll my eyes at the "I'm hungry agains". And my clientele is such that their taste buds are not developed, and they don't want their food to touch.

So when dinner rolls around, I'm out of ideas unless it involves peanut butter. If a hunk of protein isn't thawing on the counter by 9 am, chances are we're having pancakes for dinner, and Kel is mixing the batter. I've been known to make several decent crock-pot meals, but again, that requires preparedness and a plan. I might get as far as having pulled something freezer-burned out of the basement, but Kel usually has to pull something edible out of the pot.

This is actually a great metaphor of our personalities. He's got a knack for throwing things together that inevitably come out wonderful. He can locate a few remote ingredients in the fridge and pantry, and pull together a dinner good enough for unexpected interlopers, usually of the teenage variety and hungry like a wolf. He cooks like his Grandma Mert used to cook: with every pot, pan, spatula, ladle, spoon, measuring cup, and mixing bowl within arm's reach (and he's got long arms). The place is a disaster. He doesn't even start with a clean sink full of warm sudsy water. He ransacks the clean dishes in the dishwasher, and he also uses specialized cookware for unspecified uses. Is it really worth it to pull out the blender and all the pieces for it? and the Kitchen Aide? and the Cuisinart food processor?

It's just like the man to love power tools.

But, I shall not complain. I better not complain. The natives are restless.... and hungry. And we're out of peanut butter.