So I think I said in a prior post where I was ranting about my health that I had signed up for a service that brings fresh foods to your door and covers maybe half a week of meals for two peeps. For me, it was like mutha-effin’ Christmas because if I never have to see the inside of a MacD’s again, it will be too soon. Kids have a tendency to fuck up your principles like that.
I won the great Barney debate of the 00’s with Spawn’s other grandparent…you pick your battles. Chicken fingers and french fries the first five years as a diet staple was non-negotiable.
This has been a painful but prideful adjustment for Spawn. With summer upon us and only sporadic early camps to look forward to, daily chores and cooking dinner are the two things that Spawn gets to manage on their own. On one side, they love the freedom, take pride in the tasks completed (once we have WW3 for a while and they finally break down and do it
MY… um, the right way). They have also enjoyed how when I get home, I devour this wonderful meal set before me because OMFG, COMING HOME TO A MEAL READY IS THE AWESOMEST THING EVER, WHY… WHY DID I NOT KNOW OF SUCH THINGS?!?!
It’s been a few weeks now and I’ve slowly noticed the little things… like if you’re going to call something a “salad” it’s not normally served dry, greens that are cut so big they could choke a hippo, things left to the side that are usually included in the a meal of that type. At first, I thought it was just Spawn’s weird affliction that makes them avoid anything combined, especially when it’s wet. It took a nice long holiday weekend making a couple of the dinners together to realize the problem.
Spawn skims…. spawn skims a LOT…
“Slaw” that was supposed to included mayo, vinegar, spices was merely a plate of dry kale and cabbage.
“Biscuits” (American style) – were soft versions of flat disc “biscuits” (british-style).
When Spawn forgot to bread something and they already had it in the frying pan, they attempted to fix this by tossing handfuls of flour into the pan.
I was a broken record the entire weekend: “Will you read the entire freakin’ recipe already, like all the words even!”
Spawn:”It didn’t say to do that..”
me:”YES IT DOES!”
Spawn still doesn’t understand the difference between onion and garlic, and has at least once created a dish so pungent I could have probably lit my own breath.
Spawn adds too much liquid because they eyeball it instead of measuring. My kid is overconfident in all the wrong ways.
Last night was the kicker when the meal included shrimp that were tossed in a seasoned sauce and not a damn one of them were shelled. I tried my best to get them to eat it with the shell on. No dice.
Watching my kid shell shrimp made up for the fact that it was another hour before we could eat. It involved only 4 very disgusted fingers and a lot of noises of “ew” and “gross”. I had most of it done by the time they had just under ten shelled.
Spawn asked how I could shell them so fast….
“Grand at an all-you-can-eat seafood buffet and arthritic hands. If I wanted anything to eat at all, I had to shuck that shit twice as fast because their face was like a damn Hoover when it came to seafood.”
I get mad and frustrated with Spawn, but something tells me this is my own prior cooking history biting me in the ass. I suspect my mom is somewhere nearby just laughing her ass off. I would imagine my BFH would also be laughing/cringing since the first time they came to visit me in years, they surveyed my kitchen briefly and declared “you better have measuring utensils by the time I come back.” (I had nary a proper tablespoon even)
I complied. BFH is an epic cook and is very exacting. By contrast, I’m like a mad scientist who’s main measuring tool is my fist. I would start out to make two loaves of wheat bread and end up with eight loaves of garlic-dill-onion wheat and grain bread. Apparently, Spawn is favoring my method of things, intentional or no.
I have disclosed my many…. many…. many… past mishaps with cooking to Spawn and told them they really should follow everything to the letter first before braving out into creative license, but that shit would fall on deaf ears for me too. In fact, the more the critics would tell me I needed to do things one way, I was hell bent on doing anything but. Following a recipe to me was using the book as a stand for my bowl and occasionally looking at the picture.
With all that said, Spawn has about a 50% ratio of hits to misses on their own creative license, which is amazing considering they are figuring out a good portion of this on their own. It’s been good in spite of the errors and even though there are evenings that spawn does little more than pick at their plate, they are still trying a great deal more than they had previously.
But the most important thing about all of this is…. OMG, I COME HOME TO A HOT MEAL ALMOST EVERY DAY! HOW COOL IS THAT?!?
School time is going to suck…