Among the occupational fantasies that I occasionally have (A teacher! I should be a teacher! No, I should have been an actress, but it's too late now. Maybe an accountant! I'm OK at math, and I'm very detail-oriented, but I do bounce checks...), jobs involving food almost never appear. I don't really mind cooking that much, but I do hate to plan menus. I think that I lack food imagination, and this is why it's always so hard for me to figure out what to make for dinner for today or for the week.
My husband came shopping with me one day last week. This is rare. I was happy to have help carrying the bags, but even happier to have help with dinner ideas. "What do you want me to make for dinner tonight?" I asked as we walked through the store.
"Oh, whatever you want is fine," he said.
"Wrong answer," I said. "I need specific ideas."
"I don't know. Whatever you make is good. I'm sure you'll think of something."
"Nope," I said. "Try again. Remember: SPECIFIC."
He sighed. "OK, how about tacos? And that shrimp thing you make sometimes. Can you make that this week?"
The tacos and shrimp dish idea gave me an idea for a third dinner menu, and I left the store with the very satisfying knowledge that I had dinner menus planned and supplied for the next three days.
The next morning, planning for how to manage work, volunteer work, and kids' activities, while still getting halfway decent meals on the table, I thought of doing several days' worth of prep work all at once. Having cleaned out the refrigerator during the previous week, I had a beautiful cabinet full of clean and well-organized containers with matching lids. 45 minutes later, I had a beautiful refrigerator shelf stacked with containers filled with chopped red and green pepper, diced onion, chunks of cantaloupe and watermelon, sliced tomatoes and avocados, and neat little fluffy broccoli heads. So pretty, in fact, that I hated the thought of having to use any of it, because it was so nice to open my refrigerator and see something that I could proudly show to any visiting nutritionists or diet experts. That happens all the time.
"Prep cook," I thought! "The perfect job! Just me in the kitchen with my exemplary hand-washing habits and my outstanding knife skills!"
Two days later, I had more onions to chop. This time, I couldn't summon the project-related energy and excitement. I was no longer an expert prep cook, presiding over a perfect mise en place. I was another sucker stuck in the kitchen, wiping away onion tears. So much for occupational fantasies. I'll stick with what I know, and what I know is that I am very good at cleaning the house. I could probably turn that into a business.
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