Dear Dinner, Why Do You Torture Me?
It’s a question asked by millions of mothers around the world almost every night. To be fair, it’s really not dinner’s fault. I love to cook. A great many of my friends enjoy cooking. We just don’t enjoy making dinner. Every night. Over and over again for a less than enthusiastic audience.
It’s the audience that really ruins it. I have five people in my family including myself. The odds of me preparing a meal that everyone likes are about 0.01%. This is not because I don’t know what my family likes. I have a very intimate knowledge of all of their preferences. They are kind enough to reiterate them ad nauseam. They are also sweet enough to remind me with loving phrases like “ugh, chicken again!” or “oh no, not this again.” They like to keep me on my toes by changing said preferences at a moment’s notice—this is one is the best. I think that I’m making someone’s favorite meal and as we sit down to eat, said child informs me that they don’t like this. This is the same child that proclaimed this very same meal his “absolute favorite” last week—like seven days ago! So, after spending time and thought trying to prepare a nice family meal; being met with this audience is disheartening at best and infuriating at worst. But I know, it’s not me, it’s them.
Everyone Is A Chef
The other night while I was in the middle of preparing dinner—I mean apron on, cutting board active, pans heating– my thirteen-year-old came into the kitchen, assessed the situation and began naming things (other than what I was already making) that he was really interested in eating. I’m sorry, what? The following evening my younger son happened upon me in the midst of meal prep and began “suggesting” things I could make. He was apparently in the mood for a soup or a stew and I was sadly already making pork chops. You see, apparently, unbeknownst to me, all of my children are culinary experts. A few seasons of watching Chopped under their belts and they’re not only able to offer helpful suggestions like, soup when it’s eighty-two degrees outside, but they’re also able to give me some great notes. I especially like it when they tell me the “texture is off” or that I’ve “over seasoned” something. It’s super helpful.
The last time I checked I was the only person in my home that actually cooks food for consumption. I have taught all of my children how to make various recipes. They have enjoyed learning and executed them fabulously. Oddly, it seems that the minute after our cooking lessons were completed my children experienced a full mind erase. So, while I know they are capable, they seem to have no recollection of how to make any of the dishes I taught them. Thankfully they still have that wide base of general culinary knowledge that allows them to critique beautifully.
On The Clock
The timing and frequency of dinner is its other main problem. It’s usually set to take place at the end of everyone’s day and in the middle of about thirty-six other activities. That leaves you preparing a meal in the middle of driving people places, helping with homework and attempting to finish anything that you need to get done before close of business. It also leaves you and everyone in your family in their “end of the day mood.” That’s sort of like a Russian roulette of emotions. You could have a kid crying? You’ve definitely got at least one in a bad mood and at least three days a week you’re going to have to perform some kind of legitimate psychological counseling. This all takes place between the hours of 4-6 P.M. right when you’re supposed to…be making dinner.
If you were smart and lucky maybe you prepped stuff earlier because you knew you would have exactly twenty-three minutes to actually throw everything together (before talking a child of their psychological ledge). Perhaps you got in early with the help of a slow cooker and are winning at life by having that fabulous little machine cook for you when you’re not even there. Even with the fantastic advances in modern kitchen machinery, my guess is you’re still rushing. So, now it really is like an episode of Chopped. You’re attempting to get your chicken in the oven, make some kind of vegetable that everyone will eat, and people are scurrying all around you screaming “times up!” Enjoyable, right?
Then there’s the frequency. Every. Night. Like, no breaks, ever. Even if you order take-out, it’s an annoying process (see earlier reference to no one liking or agreeing on anything). In some way shape or form you are responsible for providing these people with some form of sustenance every night. It’s exhausting. You try to come up with new ideas. You attempt to cycle in some crowd favorites. But, that dinner hangs over your head every day. It taunts you. Sometimes you block it out and then it surprises you in the middle of the day and sends you into an immediate panic scramble.
Oh, dinner, why? I really do enjoy you. I enjoy making you at my own pace with a glass of wine in hand. I love to enjoy you, preferably with adults or children that aren’t complaining. But the demands you place upon me are cruel and unusual. I know I will not always feel this way about you. We are just going through a rough patch in our relationship. I hope that in a few years we can once again enjoy and appreciate each other. For now, I will keep my head down and keep churning you out on a daily basis to a less than appreciative audience. I will continue to try to expand their horizons and feed them delicious and nutritious things. If that doesn’t work, then I will pray that they all marry terrible cooks so that they will one day truly appreciate me.