Conversation with My Wife (78)
Soup. Can’t go wrong with soup. Right?
We like soup. Seriously. Preferably with meat, but a creamy cheese soup works, too (and it’s easy to add a can of cooked chicken or shrimp or crab, right?). For us, it’s a meal, either lunch or dinner (not saying we’d never do soup for breakfast, just that we haven’t yet).
Yesterday Elizabeth Helmich got me in a soup mood, so we picked up ground beef, loose sausage, and a few fresh veggies on the way home from work, and today we started on a soup that can best be described as “a bunch of stuff thrown into a pot and simmered until you smell it everywhere in the house and I swear I’m picking it up in the garage how is that even possible.”
Side note: Deb and I both love to cook. However. Our definitions differ. “Cook” to Deb means finding a recipe, comparing it to other recipes to decide on the best one, compiling a list of ingredients, comparing said list to items on hand, producing a grocery list (in order of items as we find them in the store), laying all ingredients out in order on the counter, and assembling the collection strictly per the recipe. I, on the other hand, cook by rummaging through the cupboards and pantry and fridge, grabbing stuff that catches my eye, throwing it all together, and covering any potential flaws with sauces and cheeses.
Even when we do soup kits, I view the instructions more as guidelines. Just easier.
But I enjoy having my wife assist when I cook, and she enjoys helping me even though I suspect she spends a lot of the time thinking, Ohmigawd what is he doing now?
So we’re chopping and dicing and browning and it’s time to put stuff in the pot, because we’re getting cramped on counter space. Deb bends down, roots through the cabinet, and hauls out our crock pot.
ME: You’re getting the crock pot?
DEB: (holding the rather heavy crock pot, right in front of me*) No?
ME: I was thinking the large pot for on top of the stove.
DEB: Okay! (laboriously returns crock pot to cabinet) I just wasn’t sure it would be big enough for all our ingredients.
ME: (mentally adding up — for the first time — all the ingredients) Uhhhh… I think you’re right. Okay, we just keep the temp at high and we’ll be fine. Good idea, honey!
DEB: (stares at me for several seconds before, again, digging through items in the cabinet to retrieve the crock pot) No problem, honey!
No, seriously, she loves me lots!
I also made a meatloaf.
All by myself.
*See, when a woman asks her male significant other a rather obvious question, it’s usually not a question. So, “Is that what you’re wearing to the party?” actually means “You are *not* wearing that to any social event at which you expect to have me along!” Whereas, when a man asks a woman an obvious question, there’s an understood “rut-roh!” factor involved, so it usually behooves the woman to just stop everything for a minute or two while her male partner catches on to the self-evident. Or maybe that’s just us.