Yes, I can still cook for myself
“Will you still feed me?”
It’s one of the questions posed by Paul McCartney in his classic Beatles song, “When I’m Sixty-Four,” a cheeky ode to growing old with someone.
I’m a couple decades away from turning 64, but sometimes I feel like I should already be asking this question of my wife. You see, over the nearly seven years of our marriage, the balance between who cooks and who just eats has tipped drastically in her favor.
Before we met, I had over a decade of experience cooking for myself. I knew how to use more than just a toaster and microwave. I could chop vegetables, follow recipes and make myself everything from elaborate stir frys to kale-and-pasta dishes. I could even prepare meat-based meals without a significant risk of food poisoning.
But something happened after we got married. Traditional gender roles took over, and more and more, Linda was the one in the kitchen while I sat in the living room, waiting to be called to the dinner table. Her seemingly endless supply of delicious casseroles made me forget about what it was like to mince garlic gloves or carefully mix various herbs and spices.
I even abandoned some of my longtime favorite meals, such as “macaroni and cheese for adults” — my personal twist on the boxed meal, involving the addition of garlic, onions and olive oil. Nowadays, when it’s just me at home for lunch, I settle for a simple turkey sandwich, with some chips or orange slices on the side. I rarely go anywhere near pot and pans, unless I’m cleaning them (that’s still my job, mostly).
This transition from self-reliant meal provider to passive food consumer really comes into focus whenever Linda heads out of town for a few days on her own. It doesn’t happen that often, but when it does, she feels the need to make sure I know what’s available to me in the kitchen, like she’s worried I might go hungry in her absence. She’s leaving for a family function today, so last night, she made a chicken-and-biscuit hotdish that should last me a couple of days.
“There’s also stuff in the freezer,” she likes to tell me whenever she’s about to leave. I rarely ever venture into the freezer for my meals, but she wants me to know there are relatively simple options waiting for me if I just grab a box, preheat the oven and follow the instructions.
Really, I’m not that helpless. In fact, I just prefer simple meals, especially when I’m back in bachelor mode. That often means cracking open a can of beans and pouring it over some freshly cooked white rice. Linda likes to call it my “hobo meal.” It may not seem like much, but at least it’s proof I can still feed myself.
OUT FOR A WALK
KEVIN O’BRIEN
EDITOR
