The other day we were treated to a three course birthday feast by one of my oldest friends for his lovely wife Kathleen. His menu was an ambitious and delicious celebration of shellfish: steamed mussels with tarragon, scallops with crisp chorizo, and the main course–lobster risotto with asparagus. I think there was also a lot of butter involved, thank you Dave!
Pretty impressive, right?
And Dave managed to bang this meal out with a real kitchen (meaning no fancy gadgets or appliances) while four kids under the age of seven and two shih tzus chased each other through the house and we the adults did nothing more than contribute lively conversation and fill our glasses. He didn’t even have one chefy tantrum. That takes skill.
Now since I’m the designated cook for my household I don’t expect Tim to do any of the cooking (although I’ve been badgering him for YEARS to come up with one signature dish because it’s my belief that everyone, even the cooking-adverse, should have one thing they can make impressively. Why? What if we decide to go on The Amazing Race and cooking a meal is one of the challenges and I can’t do it because I just did the challenge where you have to pull a rickshaw through the streets of Taipei? I also think it’s just cool to have a signature dish. Do you have one?).
Tim, unfortunately, does not agree with me that he needs to master a perfect steak au poivre or eggs benedict (I should also mention that I think your signature dish should be something that takes some effort, that you also love to eat and that has real crowd appeal–a grilled cheese would not be my idea of a signature dish. My dad’s Sunday sauce with meatballs and sausage was a pretty good one).
As long as Tim compliments my food, eats it with gusto, and does the dishes, I don’t mind being the cook, I actually prefer it, but I do think it’s cool when a man does the home cooking. I know this now sounds completely retro
