For instance, as a poor college student I learned that adding, cheese, garlic, and spices made cheap food taste so much better. I mean, unless you are lactose intolerant, cheese is like the panacea to a bad day. It just wraps you up in its melty goodness or eases your pain when sliced on a cracker, even an off-brand Saltine.
Cooking also became a social event for me when I lived in Dublin studying my Masters. I spent many happy hours in the kitchen with my international cadre of friends teaching them to make Americanized Mexican food and stir-fry. They in turn taught me to make German pancakes, Apple Strudel, Irish soda bread, curries, and so many other fun dishes. We would dice onions together crying into our glasses of cheap wine and singing Abba songs and dancing around the narrow kitchen. Cooking was joyous and so was our appreciation of the food.
Then, back in the States and living in San Diego, I became master of the grill. My margarita lime chicken tickled the taste buds. I became obsessed with grilled bell peppers and onions. I loved cooking for my friends.
Skip ahead, twelve years and I'd honestly rather stick needles up my fingernails than cook dinner for my family. And usually, I don't have to. My husband, an avid Food Network Foodie is an excellent cook. Of course, his idea of dinner is a slab of meat, and I have to remind him to add a vegetable side dish. But this is a small price to pay for a perfect steak.
But on the days he gets busy or just doesn't feel like it. I am stuck with dinner duty leaving me in a full-scale panic attack and crying over my computer as I scan recipe after recipe on Yummy trying vainly to find something my kids will eat. My oldest son is king of the bland and screeches like a howler monkey being swung by its tail if I dare to add sauce to anything. We still can't convince him that marina sauce on spaghetti is the same stuff they put on his beloved pizza. He will only eat cheese if its on said pizza or shredded on the side of his taco. And no foods can touch - ever! He even cried the first time we tried to give him ice cream. Seriously!
My youngest actually has quite a sophisticated palate and is a regular at the tasting counter at Trader Joe's often scoring extra samples of Port Wine Cheese of Brie. However, his heightened sense of taste demands variety. He'd do well eating tapas every night or going to a Casino buffet. He likes little bites of everything but never finishes anything. He often declares himself too full to finish dinner, but is ravenous for something else two seconds later. Usually, I find him scouring the pantry and fridge lamenting that there is nothing to eat. Which translates to nothing he's in the mood for. I can hardly get him to eat breakfast and have told his teachers that I attempt to feed him in the morning so don't feel sorry for him when he complains that he's starving at nine. He had his chance.
Now I know these are common complaints. I see the battle-hardened Facebook posts of my fellow sisters-in-arms complaining about their kids throwing epic tantrums over a nutritious, long-labored over meal. I feel your pain and send you cyber hugs and recommendations that you find a good wine or beer to drown your sorrows in. Also, a good Netflix series. Outlander and Meomi wine after the kids are bed or a Moscow Mule and The Night Manager or My Crazy Ex-Girlfriend and a Shocktop will help ease the pain. Your kids being a butt over dinner will dissipate with the sight off a firmer, tighter Scottish backside.
I also hear all your wise advice to just not give in with the corn dogs and chicken nuggets. Let them go hungry. Make them try new things. And I hear you. I have told my kids to make a peanut butter and jelly sandwich when they complain about my chicken tikka masala.
But I am weak and there are some nights after already battling over homework, computer time, cleaning up, and a million other kid/parent conflicts that I am exhausted by dinner time and the thought of another battle makes me ill.
This too shall pass and some day I may find my joie de vivre in the kitchen again. But when my oldest tells me he will "suffer through" the healthy and delicious chicken and pasta I made, my soul dies a little.
I miss when cooking was fun. An adventure in taste and exploration of new recipes. I miss watching people enjoy my endeavors. After spending a half-hour chopping vegetables till my hands smelt like garlic and bore indentations on my index finger where the pairing knife pressed in to my skin, I felt rewarded by the yummy sounds people made and the scrape of the fork getting every last bite. Now I have to threaten and cajole little people to have two more bites of broccoli or half their chicken teriyaki. It's completely exhausting and deflating.
Like the rest of the mommas out there, I will persevere. After all, I have to feed them. And a friend gave me a helpful suggestion that I plan to try out the next time one of my darling sons complains about my cuisine. Whoever complains must be the next chef, and I get to critique their efforts. Let's hope it works.
Thanks for letting me vent. I know I'm preaching to the choir. But it feels good to get it off my chest.
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