Kitchen Klutzes

I've always wondered why most of the world's famous chefs happen to be men, and if at all they went home after a day's work and cooked for their wives and children. I also wonder if those chefs are as efficient at tidying up the kitchen and cleaning up after themselves as they are at concocting all those gastronomical delights. To my knowledge, men do not have the patience to put things back in order as women do, and as creative as they might get with their food, they are downright klutzes in the kitchen and leave behind a holy mess after they are done cooking.

The husband here is no exception in this regard, but then again, neither is he a renowned chef for that matter. Once in a blue moon, he ventures into the kitchen to whip up something unhealthy but delicious. I must admit that there are moments when I think he's God's gift to the gastric juices! If one were to ignore the calories piled up on the plate and focus solely on the taste and creativity of the food he serves, then he would easily and surely score an 'A'. People say I'm a good cook, but sometimes the kid says, "Mom, can you ask Dad to make something?", which goes to show how the Dad can improvise in the kitchen and tickle the taste buds. There are moments when I'm downright tired and resent entering the kitchen, and on such rare occasions, the husband takes it on himself to put together something quickly.

It so happened that a friend of his had shared a shrimp pattie with him at lunch one day. He had asked her how it had been made, and voila, that night he took it upon himself to indianize the dish and serve it for dinner. When I say such things, please don't think that the husband waits on me hand and foot everyday. These are very rare occurrences, so rare that I can count them on the fingers of my hand! But the best part is that he cooks and serves it as well, bringing it to the couch while I'm watching TV. I take immense pleasure in being served wherever I am at that moment, in front of the TV, or the computer, or the bedroom, but after the eating is done, all the pleasure evaporates when I enter the kitchen and see the royal mess it is in! I cannot for the life of me imagine why and how all the dishes - pots, pans, plates, spoons, ladles, knives, cutting boards, etc., etc. - got into the sink! Surely he didn't cook for an army, did he?!!?

I then kick myself for having let this happen, that I should have overcome my laziness and fixed dinner myself in the first place. For the perverse pleasure of being waited on, there I am, paying the price of having to spend an extraordinary length of time scrubbng and mopping and cleaning and wiping and sanitizing the whole place. Never again will I allow this to happen, I swear to myself! For every minute I spent eating, I spend ten times the time tidying up ... and as the husband keeps gloating over his culinary skills and tooting his horn endlessly, I ask him to shut up and give me a break! Ya think I learned my lesson? Yeah, right!!!