Why It Is Not So Bad to Have a Chef for a Husband

I have been not so into food lately, and especially not so into cooking. Which has, in fact, been pretty easy to get away with, because it is barbecue and picnic season, and there are dinners with grandparents, and before that there was the endless birthday celebration, and the children can often be satisfied with pancakes or coldy peas and cereal, and then after all that you can justify the occasional take-out, and at one point I had managed not to cook for ten days, and M was quite impressed.

But then the other night I was hungry. What had the children eaten? Oh yes, they had eaten pancakes, made by M, while I was at the MAKEOVER party, at which there was wine, but no food. Then I came home and put them to bed and it was late and I was actually hungry, for once, but as usual uninspired. So I called S to ask him to bring me something from the restaurant, but he was already on the freeway, so that was not an option.

Meanwhile, back at the ranch, we had just received our first delivery from the CSA with all sorts of delicious springtime things that I had no desire to cook but would love to eat but not enough to cook them.

Then S got home. And I asked him to make me some food. And he sauteed pea shoots and zucchini and spring garlic and chive blossoms and green onions, and stirred in some leftover pasta, and grated asiago over it, and that's what I ate. Not so bad.

[On the other hand, in case you were getting too jealous, it's not so great to have a chef for a husband when the sous chef whom he was going to fire as soon as he hired a replacement quits before a replacement is hired, meaning that the goal of going from six days a week to five is replaced by the fear of going from six days a week to seven, and those four days in Maine over the fourth of July? Ha!]