Please God let there be a chicken
July 27th, 2006
I am in the living room. David walks into the kitchen.
Panic from the kitchen. “SOMETHING’S GOING ON IN HERE! JENN? THERE’S…IT’S…DO YOU KNOW WHAT’S HAPPENING IN HERE?”
“Yes,” I say. “The oven is on. And the stove is on.”
Pause from the kitchen. Then: “And you…I mean…?”
“Yes,” I say. “I know. I turned them on. I am in the process of cooking. I am boiling water. The oven is preheating.”
Bewildered silence. Then: “Oh.”
“I know,” I say. “It’s okay.”
Sophie, who is sitting next to me, briefly diverts her focus from Maya & Miguel to my face. “What’s wrong?”
“It’s nothing, honey. Daddy was just surprised to see the oven and the stove on, that’s all.”
“Because you put them on?”
“That’s right.”
David peers into the living room. “It’s just…I mean…I didn’t mean—”
“No, it’s okay. I know. It was a shocking moment for you.”
He is smiling, but suddenly mute.
__________
I am not sure what I bring to the table in this marriage. I do not bring homecooked gourmet meals to the table, of this we are all certain. But I assume I must be bringing something to the table, metaphorically speaking, because my husband has not yet left me. He has not once come home late reeking of J. Lo perfume, or of a homecooked gourmet meal from another woman’s house. I do not catch him moaning about sexy flans and raunchy reduction sauces or babes brulees in his sleep.
It’s a mystery. When I boil water and heat up the oven for a frozen pizza, it frightens him deeply. I don’t make him coffee, I don’t make him breakfast, and I definitely don’t do that thing that we saw that time in that movie. We keep our butter in the fridge, where it belongs. But there he is, every night and every morning.
I have brought Clif Bars to the table. Occasionally I fling them onto the table before my children in an absentminded, zookeeper-just-about-to-take-a-coffee-break sort of way. And I feel good and warm inside when they pounce upon them and tear off the wrappers and stuff them into their mouths. Breakfast is the most important meal of the day. I have made a difference. They will live for another few hours.
But my husband may perish.
Today, scavenging for breakfast, my husband began gnawing on one of these half-eaten Clif Bars. “You can’t do that,” I said.
“Why not?” he said, looking pained.
“Sophie made me promise I would save the rest of it for her.”
“It’s an old Clif Bar.”
“I know. But I promised her. And she’s very mad that I ate the last hard-boiled egg the other day, so we have to respect her feelings about the Clif Bar. Wait, is that the bigger Clif Bar? That’s Hannah’s. Where’s Sophie’s?”
Increasingly pained looks. “I ate it,” he says.
“You ate the littler chunk of Clif Bar? Oh, that’s not good. Tear off some of Hannah’s and stuff it in Sophie’s wrapper.”
He backs away from the lumpy, gnawed Clif Bars.
__________
He was not home the night that Sophie said to me, “Mommy, you make the best chicken and potatoes and corn. The corn is juicy, the way it’s supposed to be.”
Obviously, I was deeply moved, and wished my husband had been there to hear such heartfelt praise. It was the girls’ very first Hungry Man frozen dinner. It came with a brownie that looked like a Clif Bar, only smaller. We learned something very valuable that night: One Hungry Man = Two Hungry Little Girls + One Dieting Mother. I cannot say I was full afterwards, but I did feel pleased that it had all gone so smoothly, and that the corn cooked up just fine even though I ripped off the plastic wrap on top of them before cooking because I didn’t read all the directions.
Later, when I told my husband of my success and what Sophie had said, he laughed for 15 minutes, pausing only once to rub his sunken, bloodshot eyes as he read the pizza takeout menu.
__________
I have said this before, but in my defense, I am food dyslexic. I cannot decipher the stuff. I cannot make sense of the food alphabet on the shelves at the supermarket. Yes, I see the lima beans and the flour and the coffee beans and the cooked shrimp just as you do, but I do not know how to spell M-E-A-L with them. I whimper as I push my empty cart up and down the aisles of the supermarket. I am saying that I whimper audibly.
Personal shoppers are WASTED in department stores. I need a personal shopper with me in the supermarket. That is what it will take to save my marriage. Eventually, the jig will be up, and Mrs. Kitchen will cluck and serve me ghost tea and whisper, “Now, now, dear, you should have known he’d leave you after you threw those dreadful brown wrapper bars at the children.”
__________
On our way to a potluck at another family’s home (a family headed up by a woman who is a fabulous and very willing cook), I stopped at the Big Y. With a sense of growing shame and apprehension swelling in my Splenda-laced gullet, I made a beeline for the rotisserie area. I realized that I was muttering aloud, PLEASE GOD LET THERE BE A CHICKEN, over and over. Please God let there be a chicken.
God was merciful, and there was indeed a chicken, a very greasy, unfortunate chicken that had been sitting under the heat lamp since 10:45 am. It was now 6 pm. Why anyone needs to be making rotisserie chickens at 10:45 in the morning is anyone’s guess, but it was a chicken, and I would not be coming to the party empty-handed.
I paid for the chicken, which had already slid out of its plastic coffin and was now swimming freely in its oil on the bottom of my plastic Big Y bag. Then, on my way to the automatic doors, I spied a pile of booklets with the title HAPPY HEALTHY SUMMERTIME FROM BIG Y! YUM! I raced toward the booklets, my lips moving. This time I caught myself muttering, PLEASE GOD LET THERE BE RECIPES.
Obviously, I need help before things get worse. No amount of toilet cleaning and childbirth can make up for being the kind of woman who wanders around mumbling PLEASE GOD LET THERE BE A CHICKEN and PLEASE GOD LET THERE BE RECIPES. He will leave me, and he will take the children, and even Mrs. Kitchen will give up on me and leave town.
At the very least, I had better start doing that thing. And fast. Or slow. I’ll leave that up to him.
Entry Filed under: Uncategorized, Because I said so. (Parenting), Playdates. (Relationships)
41 Comments
1. KTP | July 27th, 2006 at 12:57 pm
That THING. Ew.
2. JustLinda | July 27th, 2006 at 12:59 pm
Oh my god, that was so funny. hahahha Why do I feel the need to point out my favorite parts every time I comment on your posts? But I do! I always do! I never do that on other blogs.
The hungry man arithmetic was too much. hahah Zookeeper just about to take a coffee break — now my parenting style has a NAME! When I sit with those A/P attachment parenting people, I can say, “Oh, my style is ZKATCB. You’ve probably not heard of it before. It’s really quite revolutionary.”
I’ll never buy a roasted chicken again without considering its packaging to be a little plastic coffin. LOL
3. Corey | July 27th, 2006 at 1:00 pm
Even though you didn’t ask for recipes, I can’t stop myself from giving you one I just tried out. It is the easiest - no really, the EASIEST - most delicious thing I’ve made in quite some time.
Easy, Delicious Chicken Pot Pie:
1 package frozen Stouffer’s Skillets Chicken and Pasta
2-pack frozen ready to bake pie crusts (deep dish if you can find it)
Leave the pie crusts on the counter for a while to thaw. Take one of the crusts out of the tin holder and lay flat.
Cook the Stouffer’s Skillets Chicken and Pasta according to directions. (Basically throw it in a frying pan and stir until it’s not frozen anymore.)
Fill pie crust with chicken and pasta, cover with the other flattened pie crust. Mush the edges together.
Bake according to the pie crust directions for a double crust pie. It will probably be around 15-20 minutes in a 350 oven.
And…yumm! A homemade meal with about 5 minutes prep time. My husband loved it so much he ate the entire thing in one sitting. That should keep him around for another couple years I would think.
4. Spot the Wonder Dog | July 27th, 2006 at 1:12 pm
He sticks around ‘cause you’re a wild animal in the sack.
That, and you tear the house apart like no other.
5. kt flynnie | July 27th, 2006 at 1:15 pm
its obviously the humor you bring to the table
and i agree, That THING. EW
6. Jenn | July 27th, 2006 at 1:30 pm
That THING? What, you don’t like sauteed yams? I totally saw it in a movie.
What dirty minds you people have. Jeez.
7. geogirl | July 27th, 2006 at 1:43 pm
Wait……
You mean people cook?
8. Spot the Wonder Dog | July 27th, 2006 at 1:44 pm
Jenn I want you to know that… that night we watched Last Tango in Paris, on the VCR, in the kitchen… well… it was very special to me.
9. Andrea S. | July 27th, 2006 at 1:50 pm
That’s why I married a chef. Plus, mine cleans, mows grass, and I’m suddenly worried now why he’s even with me!
Oh, that’s right. I’m GREAT at that thing. And I can unload a mean dishwasher. And I can sorta cook, too. Not really, but he lies and says I can. And I’m going to try Corey’s pot pie thing. That sound EASY and awesome!
10. Simon | July 27th, 2006 at 2:19 pm
I cannot begin to describe how big a pet peeve it is of mine to keep butter in the fridge.
What do you do with refridgerated butter?! You take it out of the fridge and wait for it to soften enough to spread on anything softer than a concrete slab. Not even blackened toast can stand up to butter fresh from the fridge. It becomes nothing more than palsied, scarred, blackened and smeared toast; and that’s just cruel.
It’s like those restaurants that put their pre-packaged butter packets on ice. What the hell am I going to do with that?! I have a hard enough time prying it out with the knife; I sure can’t spread it on anything remotely edible.
The only thing butter-from-the-fridge is good for is lopping off a large chunk with a sturdy knife, cramming it into a ceramic coffee mug and nuking it to melt and pour over popcorn, accompanied by the flavoured salt of your choice. (My favourite’s Dill Pickle.)
OH… one last thing. It is also acceptable to keep butter in the fridge if it’s going to be used for a big ol’ corn-on-the-cob feast. Then you can simply lay the whole pound out on a plate and let folk roll their cobs in it before applying salt. Cold butter is better at holding the concave divot that forms.
But that’s IT!!
11. Lisa H | July 27th, 2006 at 2:36 pm
Ok, it’s official: you are my favorite blogger ever. EVER. And you just saved me from having to write another post about my lack of culinary skills & wondering why my husband hasn’t left me yet. Because now I can just send everyone here. You are the BEST.
12. KeriS | July 27th, 2006 at 2:54 pm
Jenn - I just found this fabulous place called Pass Your Plate (www.passyourplate.com). There must be a place near you that is something like it. They are all the rage. But here’s how it goes. You show up and prepare your meals at their place of business. There are 12 or so different entrees to choose from, and each has its own little salad bar like area with a preparation bar. There are shelves of clean mixing bowls, whisks, spoons, and measuring utensils of every sort. At each station, there is a clear recipe with all the ingredients right there in front of you… already chopped and othwerwise ready for you to mix ‘em all together according to your taste. When you finish each entre’, you place it in an aluminum container with an aluminum top, and slap a very nicely printed label on the top with instructions on how to prepare it once you get home.
I pay about $160 for what should be 10 meals, but here is the amazing thing. While each meal is said to serve 4-6 people, I have found, as you did with your hungry man meal, that actually I can get 2 meals for my family of 5 out of each one… so I prepare them in smaller aluminum pans and actually make 20 meals for $160! It is amazing. And the little worker bees at the place come along behind you and clean up your mess… So, I can make a hot meal for every weeknight of an entire MONTH for $160. All I have to do is remember to set a meal in the fridge a day or so before so it thaws, and throw it in the oven at night. It is AMAZING. It feels wonderful to prepare all those meals from scratch, and I can do it in about an hour and a half with no kids pulling on me or whimpering “I need you mamma…”
13. Kelly S. | July 27th, 2006 at 4:20 pm
My husband wakes around 3am to commute 75 miles, returns home around 4pm exhausted and bleary, and yet is oftentimes the one who makes dinner for me & our 2 kids. Sometimes, I feel a little guilty about this.
Yes, you must, must check out your local Pass the Plate or whatever it’s called back there. Here in SoCal, we have Dream Dinners, and it has been a good solution…at least when I remember to defrost the stuff so my husband can come home to cook it up.
14. mom on a wire | July 27th, 2006 at 4:26 pm
This one time, I made a cake out of a box, and it looked so pretty, and we had people over, and everyone loved it, and then my husband asked in front of everyone, “so honey, did you make this from scratch?” and I looked at him straight in the eye and said “YES. YES I DID,” and he could see from the look on my face that he would never get a cake again, from a box or otherwise.
15. candace | July 27th, 2006 at 4:57 pm
Okay, see…I think I know what the problem is. You’re trying to spell M-E-A-L from” lima beans and the flour and the coffee beans and the cooked shrimp”. Those things don’t *go* together. For anyone.
Seriously, though, if you really want to learn how to cook, try one of those Dream Dinners or Chop Shop or Pass the Plate or whatever you have near you. It’s a great introduction.
AND. And, you MUST buy this book (or somehow get someone ELSE to buy it for you): “How To Cook Everything” by Mark Bittman. I made the mistake of giving it as a gift one year to everyone who knows me and now they’re SO not impressed by my expensive culinary education.
16. Antonia | July 27th, 2006 at 5:12 pm
Yes! Yes! All of it, yes.
Ian has to literally talk me through the cooking process, like a driving instructor, or one of those specially trained counsellors who tells people not to jump off buildings, while I stick my lip out far enough to stack plates on and make impotent flaffing motions with my arms. Cooking upsets me to my very core.
17. raquita | July 27th, 2006 at 5:44 pm
I’m one of those gourmet bytches who will glad ly cook for you and let you tell your husband you did it, hey we must all use our owers for good and not evil!
18. kirsty | July 27th, 2006 at 5:51 pm
Ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha *snort* ha ha ha!
19. the Mater | July 27th, 2006 at 6:56 pm
“I need a personal shopper with me in the supermarket.”
I’ll be there in three weeks and, after reading this, have decided NOT to ditch any of my pots and pans for the move. Perhaps we can do our food shopping au pair and I’ll teach you how to make my killer chicken soup, along with some other recipes.
Living alone doesn’t lend itself to cooking; living a couple blocks from you and David and the kiddies may reawaken my urge to cook.
You do my laundry; I’ll share my home-cookin’. Deal?!
20. Kathleen Marie | July 27th, 2006 at 8:30 pm
LOL! That was so great and how many women can relate to much of what you wrote? A lot I am sure!
I do cook meals once in awhile, honest I do. I do know how to cook. In fact I am a good cook, I just don’t enjoy it that much. I like to cook when I feel like it, like at holidays.
My kids have survived very well. My 14 year old son can make mac ‘n cheese, my eldest daughter taught her self to cook. People are survivors. Your kids will survive and our husbands are obviously great men!
21. usch | July 27th, 2006 at 8:51 pm
another unsolicited recipe.
world’s easiest tomato and garlic soup.
Blend two tins of whole tomatos in the blender. Pour back into tins. Set aside
Finely chop up some garlic
In the bottom of a big pot, lightly fry with some oil
Add a few shakes of spicy paprika
Wait til it all smells good.
Pour in pre-smoothied tomatos
Stir
Put the lid on the pot
Wait for it to warm up.
DONE!
impossible to burn, impossible to over-cook.
22. the Mater | July 27th, 2006 at 9:42 pm
… impossible to burn, impossible to over-cook.
You don’t know Jenn! Ooh, low blow … I just wanted to beat Spot to the punchline.
Jenn I love you and you can cook … remember back in ‘87?! Still jokin’ …
Here you go: you make a killer veggie chili - I love it! And you’ve prepared some lovely soups during some of my visits.
I think women of your generation have the blessing of marrying men who actually do like to cook and then it’s not as urgent for you to be in the kitchen.
23. Angie | July 27th, 2006 at 9:50 pm
Wow! I remember those food dyslexic days.
The best thing about learning how to cook AFTER you’re a mother is that your oldest daughter, weary of starvation, learns how to cook with you, and she eventually surpasses you.
personal experience, of course. My oldest, at 14, wants to be a CHEF!
24. Margaret | July 27th, 2006 at 9:56 pm
If you ever figure out how to make a meal from lima beans, flour, coffee beans, and cooked shrimp please don’t invite me to dinner.
25. Heather | July 27th, 2006 at 10:04 pm
Jenn,
There was an article in Better Homes and Gardens a while back on recipes you could throw together in a few minutes that started with…you guessed it…a rotisserie chicken from the grocery store. The article was about having last minute dinner parties, and ranged in preparation from 10 to 30 minutes. I only remember that the 30 minute one involved wilting some dark greens that came prewashed in a bag and arranging sliced goat cheese.
26. Katie | July 27th, 2006 at 11:19 pm
This was the best post in the history of postdom. I laughed so hard and I may have snorted a few times.
I know how to make a handful of meals which I rotate constantly. I am a big fan of “casseroles” (otherwise known as anything that looks a litlle funny and gets thrown into the pyrex dish and topped with cheese).
I am also the queen of bringing take-out to potlucks, more than once I have gotten pakoras to go from an Indian restaurant and dumped them on my own platter and put the sauce into a fancy bowl.
Oh the shame!
27. Sara | July 28th, 2006 at 12:10 am
Hmm. The internet may be conspiring to withhold a rotisserie chicken recipe from you… I tried to comment with it a few hours ago, but it doesn’t look like it showed up. I shall try again tomorrow.
28. Daren | July 28th, 2006 at 6:12 am
Come to PA. I’ll cook for you and you can talk to the ghosts in my new house. I’m sure they’re there. Or, you can sit on the porch and drink wine while I cook for you. Anything that lets me cook is good. And for you? I’ll even make chicken.
29. Diana | July 28th, 2006 at 9:52 am
I will gladly cook for you.
Or if you’d like, i can send you the recipe book my mother says i can’t live without but have never used. The book has five HUNDRED pages of meals, you could go the rest of you life without cooking the same meal twice.
Seriously, if you want the book let me know.
30. Tia | July 28th, 2006 at 11:54 am
Great post. So funny. I feel the same way sometimes because my husband does not just cook, he gets a woody cooking big multi-step, exotic-ingredient meals. Though I CAN cook, cooking never gets my full attention. Maybe because he hogs that realm. When I do cook he will often moan in pleasure, but then later we can’t remember what I made because it was outshadowed by an indian dish he made soon afterwards MADE WITH CLAIRIFIED BUTTER. I know. Sheesh. What’s a girl to do? Consider herself lucky, I guess. In your case, give yourself a big hug and get out there and buy more Clif bars. :O)
31. Hermit | July 28th, 2006 at 12:31 pm
You are the funniest human ever.
32. Sheri | July 28th, 2006 at 2:23 pm
Dill Pickle Salt? Where do I get me some of that?! - And I love this post Jen - clearly there are many wonderful reasons you have David, cooking is not that important. Why should the woman have to be the cook?
33. Lou | July 28th, 2006 at 11:42 pm
Jenn,
have you see the book Saving Dinner? It is also availible through online subscription.
It has a list of meals for one week all planned out- and the best part is that it includes a shopping list. Most of the recipies are pretty good too, and they are seaosnally appropriate. Check it out - perhaps it would lessen the whimpering.
34. anon | July 29th, 2006 at 1:34 pm
http://www.cooks.com/
http://www.chefs.com/
35. Debby | July 29th, 2006 at 1:42 pm
Jen, my girls call me at the oddest times to ask me how to cook things or what to buy to make something or the strangest questions as to what should they make to go with what. Your mommy will be there soon honey and things will get sooooo much better. If they don’t, you can e-mail me and I will give you my number and then you can call me too and I will tell you the secrets I give my girls, only because now I feel as sorry for your little ones as I do for my grands.
This has got to be the funniest post you have ever done girl!!!!! Whimpering in the supermarket is sooooooo wrong on so many levels. LMAO
36. mamatulip | July 29th, 2006 at 3:32 pm
I probably shouldn’t admit that I’m going to have to Google Clif Bars to see what the heck you’re talking about.
37. Jill Urbane, The Mentor Mom | July 29th, 2006 at 4:39 pm
God, I thought only I hated cooking that much. I even attempted to cram it all in on one day (a la 30 day cooking). Even with a freezer full of fully prepared meals, I couldn’t remember to take them out to thaw for dinner. Sigh, most ended up in the trash freezer burned after eight months in deep freeze.
38. Raehan | August 4th, 2006 at 12:38 am
Lucky you to have a man with the soul of an artist.
Wonderful paintings.
39. Tiff | August 4th, 2006 at 1:17 pm
Oh you are truly the funniest. My side hurts. And he stays because you’re his soul mate, NOT his cook mate.
40. Mom of 1 | August 5th, 2006 at 12:31 pm
So true! I suffer through cooking occasssionally but my husband loves it. And we eat out or order in way too often for our budget.
We’ve been doing kitchen renovations for 2 months, and they’re almost done. Which will be really great in that there won’t be dust or power saw noise or workmen in our house at 7am, and I won’t have to turn sideways to squeeze between the computer and refrigerstor in the dining room. And the contractor will no longer say “Oh Jen, I had a question for you” and ask me complicated questions for 20 minutes, JUST as I’m about to finally leave the house with my apoplectic 2-year-old.
However, this does mean I will no longer have that “no kitchen” excuse for not cooking. I’m not sure I’m ready for the kitchen to be done. I hate cooking that much.
41. Susan | August 6th, 2006 at 9:58 pm
Laughing. The kind that makes the sides and stomach ache. And crying. And snorting, lots of snorting. I’ll never look at my Clif Bar breakfast the same again!
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