Tuesday, November 9, 2010
I have never claimed to be a whiz in the kitchen. I'm a little attention deficit. Dinner for me is typically meeting friends out or driving through. I barely passed home economics in middle school, and I'm pretty sure the only reason I did was that the teacher pitied me in my ineptitude with needles, thread, flour and sugar. She knew I was never going to be the perfect housewife or even a sub par one at that. So, I got a C for a crooked heart shaped pillow I hand sewed and a cake that was barely passable as a food item. Since then, I have perfected 3 dishes that are my go to recipes for dining. Chicken Marsala, lasagna, and a dessert known to my family as Sex in a Bowl. Easy peasy.
I've been pondering lately what it means to be domestic. As a 29 year old woman who has really never been on the cusp of any sort of matrimonial situation, I began to wonder whether it was a lack of culinary ability that might be detracting from my value as a long term girlfriend. It sounds sexist, but I was grasping at straws.
I thought it would be an interesting experiment to see if I could just follow a recipe. I grabbed my mother's cookbook. I pulled out her fancy Kitchen Aid mixer. I followed each step in an almost manic attempt to prove ixethat I can cook. No, I didn't let the butter get to room temperature before mixing it. No, I didn't have lemon zest, cause it was late at night and our porch light is broken and I couldn't see if any of the lemons on the tree were yellow. Yes, I did sift the dry ingredients. I baked it for the time recommended. And it was tasty...as batter. Once I baked it, it had a dry consistency that didn't immediately scream Pound Cake to me. But, covered in enough Redi-whip, anything tastes good. Maybe I'll try again.
Maybe not. There's a shiny object in the corner of my eye. I'm going to go check it out.