Oh, yes. Spring has sprung, my friends.
By the official calendar, we have just arrived at Spring. Michigan, however, has never been one to follow the official calendar. In fact, it appears to have glanced over winter and poo-pooed Spring altogether in exchange for 80 degree weather. I suppose with Michigan’s well-known swings, I should stop being so surprised that it feels like Summer in March! You just can’t trust a Mitten.
I started out the March Madness this year consumed with reading, reading, reading but all of this Vitamin D has me feeling more inspired than needing inspiration. For the most part, I have put down my books for some more engaging hobbies. Yes, that’s another thing you should know about this March. I’m finding hobbies.
I have been cautiously, nervously, and excitedly watching my husband Freddy for the past several months. Now that we share the same roof, I find it’s become much easier to observe him without his knowledge. I’m not up to anything too mischievous; I’ve been gathering cooking clues! I say cautiously because if you have ever seen a great chef (as I consider my husband to be) move around in any kitchen space, you know that he or she owns that space. You shouldn’t enter unless you can execute with the speed of an experienced sous chef. I excel in grilled cheeses… I have no place sharing our small apartment kitchen area with him when he’s in charge.
I approach my mission nervously out of fear of exposure. What if he should see me watching and call me out to join? I simply couldn’t! Or could I?
And this is where the excitement enters. What if I can cook? What if there are a few tricks of the trade that simplify all of the confusing measurements, temperatures, and temperaments? I know I’m not the first person to have this thought or to see such a thought to fruition, but I’ll be damned if I don’t try it for myself. Damned to eating grilled cheese every night my husband gets stuck at work, if nothing else. No one needs that much cheese in their diet.
Clearly, this is in no contradiction to my previously-mentioned desire to get control of my relationship with food… That’s what I’m telling myself anyway. Once I learn to suffer the pain of cooking, err, I mean, appreciate the art of cooking (yes, until recently, I have felt only pain – both emotional and physical – whilst sputtering about in the kitchen), I might learn a thing or two about the rest of those goals. You have to know your enemy if you plan to defeat it, right?