He Blogs, She Blogs: Cue The Swedish Chef*

Captain Dumbass: The Male

Welcome back, and thanks for stopping by. Today is our second installment of He Blogs/She Blogs in our new home. Petra's been super busy and a half this week so she let me choose the topic this time around. Geez, what to talk about? So many possibilities. As I was sitting in front of the computer desperately scratching my head something kept distracting me. Something I was supposed to be doing. Somewhere. About something... do you smell something burning? Shit!

This week's topic: the kitchen.

I love the kitchen. I love everything about it. Well, when I say I love everything about it I mean that in an idealistic kinda way, not the reality of my own kitchen which is a freakin' nightmare of 70's linoleum and coke induced floor plans, but that's not what this post is about. Like many homes, our kitchen is the centre of the house and a good deal of our time is spent there. And with good reason. As my ever expanding waistline will attest, the food that comes out of there is fantastic because our house is blessed with an amazing cook/baker/pastry chef. That person is not me.

Kudos to the men who know their way around a kitchen, I wish I could join your ranks. Not as much as my wife does, but I do. She tries her best to beat some culinary sense into me, but it's much like trying to bathe a cat. Messy and not really worth the effort. It's not that I don't want to learn either, it's more of a defensive stance my brain takes on whenever she starts talking about... well, whatever it is she's talking about. It's like when the bandits thunder into town on horseback and the locals close their shutters and disappear from the streets. She begins talking about cooking temperatures and doing this while this is doing something else and it's like she's speaking backwards Aramaic in a wha wha wha Charlie Brownish accent. I want to understand but my brain is steadfastly refusing.

Back when I was working I used to have to coordinate hundreds of investigations with a very limited number of investigators and keep clients baffled with bullshit and charm while they waited day after day for results. Previous to that I was in charge of coordinating daily deposits of tens of millions of dollars to the Bank of Canada on deadlines that were written in stone. I was good at it. Coordinating two different things on the stove to be ready at the same time? Blind panic. Cooking meat, chicken or fish? I don't even want to touch it.

Now I don't want you to get the idea that I'm totally useless in the kitchen, I defy anyone to match my mastery of grilled cheese:


Go ahead, click on that bad boy for full effect. Also, I'm very good at washing dishes. Early on in my working career I was a professional. I'm quite willing to keep the kitchen spotless, nay, the entire house spotless (including laundry, vacuuming and floor washing) if it means not having to cook.

I'll keep trying (my wife is raising an eyebrow as she reads this), but sadly, like the majority of men, I fall back on the lizard brain and evolutionary memories of our hunter/gatherer ancestors. I'm more than happy to go out and spear a woolly mammoth or sabre toothed tiger, just don't ask me to cook it.

Petra a.k.a. The Wise (Young) Mommy: The Female

Yeah, so it seems all of a sudden I am a real writer of sorts and have these assignments and meetings with editors and such writerly, columnisty things, so I told The Captain to come up with a topic this week, and of course he chooses the kitchen. Because we have all seen the beautiful, mouthwatering pictures of the food creations that he makes and posts on his blog (brag much?) and there is a glaring lack of food pictures and recipes on my blog for a very good reason.

I kinda hate the kitchen. Pretty much everything about it (except for the pretty ones with all the stainless steel and granite countertops that come fully equipped with a cook and housekeeper. That kind of kitchen I could live with, quite happily indeed.) But as for my kitchen, the one with the hand me down stove and fridge, a lack of countertops, and NO DISHWASHER, which also happens to be tucked into the corner of a little basement in my in-laws' house, let's just say I harbor some feelings of resentment.

And I don't like to cook.

I wouldn't go so far as to say that I hate to cook, but I will avoid it at all costs and buy as many frozen, easy to prepare meals as possible to avoid defrosting, seasoning, tenderizing, marinating, or anything else that involves putting effort into creating a dish. Every now and then I try to get creative and follow a recipe and it usually turns out OK, but nothing to write home about.

My poor husband, you may be thinking. But no, he gets a good meal at least a few times a week that consists of meat, vegetable and starch, and it's always edible. But now, back when we first moved in together, that was a different story. I was a vegetarian that lived off steamed vegetables, rice and pasta and would not, could not, would NEVER handle meat. So yeah, that was an issue.

So I guess you can say I have come a long way.

And then there is all the washing of dishes, cleaning up and putting away of things that always accompanies being in the kitchen, which I despise. And of course these are my responsibilities, and since I am not the best housewife in the world, our kitchen is not the most spotless kitchen you have ever seen. Another fact that my husband likes to point out, to which I say "get me a housekeeper or do it yourself," to which he scoffs, rolls his eyes and shuts up. I will get my housekeeper someday: I think I am wearing him down.

So you might think that since I am lacking in the culinary prowess department that my husband might pick up the slack there, but alas, no, he limits his trips to the kitchen to get snacks and drinks. Oh yeah, and to criticize me about how I put away the pots and pans and the fact that I don't have a sponge for the ONE time he decided to clean something up. A sponge? Hello? Doesn't he know how much bacteria grows in those things and then you rub them all over your counter? That's why I buy antibacterial wipes. But he thinks that is a waste of money. Well, tell me if you think it is a waste of money when you are hanging over the toilet with a raging bout of Salmonella. I think not.

So basically, until we move into our new house (hopefully the end of this summer) with our brand new, state of the art kitchen with a dishwasher and actual counterspace to cook meals, my standpoint on the kitchen will remain the same--a necessary evil.

But maybe, just maybe, when I get a decent kitchen, I will decide to start watching some Food Network and turn into a culinary goddess.

But I wouldn't hold your breath honey. Better start looking for a housekeeper.

PS. from the Dumbass: Rereading my post I swear I've read my last line somewhere else. If I've unwittingly plagiarized you, take it as a compliment. If I plagiarized myself then suck it up, ya hack. It wasn't that funny the first time.

*Duh, the Muppet Show