I Don't Cook

Well, that's not true. I used to not cook.

Here's the story.

When I met my boyfriend a while back I told him I didn't cook. It was true. Fortunately it wasn't a deal breaker. But he asked "Did you ever cook?"

Did I ever cook?

For several decades I cooked daily. I made large inexpensive meals, enough to serve ten people because I didn't know exactly who would be there for dinner. I, literally, knew by heart 25 ways to prepare chicken and ground beef. Some of my family's favorite dinners were

Knockwurst, sauerkraut and mashed potatoes

Porkchops and rice (a casserole with the porkchops on top dripping all of the pork fat into the rice and other ingredients)

Corned beef hash baked with eggs (10) nestled in little valleys.

And always lots of fruits and veggies. Whatever was on sale.

After these nightly dinners there were left overs that were carefully covered and refrigerated. But most times, when I awaken early the next morning they were gone.

I bought bananas each week. The speckled brown ones were put in the freezer where they turned black but were just perfect for making loaves of banana bread.

Six Week Bran Muffins were a semi liquid concoction kept in the frig for making bran muffins in a hurry. Three or two dozen.

On laundry day I baked bread. We let it rise on the warm dryer.

By the time my # 1 daughter was eight years old she was writing out the menus for dinner parties.

A friend of mine told me one day that her mother had quit cooking. I remember not really comprehending how that would be possible.

But then, about eight years ago my life was so stressful that I knew something had to give.

I QUIT COOKING.

And the world did not come to an end. Adjustments were made.

And now things have changed. Tonight my boyfriend and I are having a little dinner party.

I'm cooking.