There’s one thing I’ve always wanted to say publicly but rarely get the chance to mention. My wife is a fabulous cook.
She has the ability to plan her menu out days in advance, make one trip to the grocery store, and then get everything ready. On days when she hasn’t had time to shop, she looks in the pantry, selects a few items, and puts together something amazing. She’s a sorceress in the kitchen.
My kids, particularly my younger one, think their mom is a fabulous cook, too. Almost once a month, my younger son tells his mother that she should open a restaurant. Often, while my wife is cooking, my younger son will hang out in the kitchen and help his mother as best he can, particularly on foods that my younger son wants to eat.
So, with my wife needing to take it easy on Monday and asking me to take over dinner duties, she mentioned a pork tenderloin in the fridge and then said, “(Our younger son) can help you.”
The little guy didn’t want to help. He wanted to take over. So, after I made sure he washed his hands, I let him do just that. He grabbed the salt, pepper, Jimmy-spice (a special rub made by his grandfather’s butcher), and bacon and then set to work. He gave me directions, mostly on things dealing with the oven as he knew his mom didn’t let him touch the over when he helped her. He also assisted with the potatoes and the gravy, doing all he could to avoid the broccoli.
My wife staggered down to enjoy the meal, lured by the smell that had wafted to the bedroom. She had her fill then headed back.
One day my son may also be a master chef, preparing food for a girlfriend or wife the same way he does his mother. That girlfriend will be a lucky woman, to have a man whose mother taught him well.