Full disclosure: I’m not the main cook in this house — anyone who really knows me knows this is the case. I hit the jackpot and married a man who watched an absurd amount of Food Network at his grandma’s house as a child and decided at the ripe old age of twelve that it was time for him to start cooking dinner for his family. The verdict is still out on whether or not this was actually a ploy to get out of dish duty, but whatever his reason, I am ridiculously grateful for his extensive amount of practice and expertise, for as those who really know me also know, I really love food. Besides:
All hopes and prayers of this quality being passed along to our future children aside, I did, in fact, cook dinner for myself at one point in time (single girl style), and Mike greatly appreciates the occasions on which I do cook. Also, as the person in our family who most likes to follow a recipe (GASP!), I have become the resident baker in this joint.
I’ve always looked at cooking and baking as fairly functional tasks. Yet, the more I work alongside my husband in the kitchen, the more this time has become a centering creative outlet for me. I mean, let’s face it: what is more simplistically beautiful than an apple pie with a buttery, lattice-top crust?
Let’s stir up some piping hot scones on a rainy Sunday morning together often, okay?