This week I took a cooking class with work. When my sales rep suggested it, I agreed immediately and with gusto. Side effect of cohabitation: I now apparently cook and bake…a lot. It’s almost embarrassing to admit, because I went through college eating strawberry Pop-Tarts with rainbow sprinkles and Easy Mac and swearing I would never be a typical housewife.
After graduation, I lived with roommates in Hoboken and ate plain pasta or cereal every night for dinner while sitting on my bed or the couch, as I never had a kitchen table.
Now I go through cookbooks in my free time, call the women in my family on a regular basis for recipes, and read Mom blogs about food. Yes, Mom blogs. Moms with teenagers who separate their laundry whites and darks and know how to properly peel a potato. As in, “Check out this awesome recipe my teenaged daughter and her friends just loved at their soccer game last night! I was the toast of the town (some might call me a MILF.) Highly recommended, serve with matching napkins!”
What happened to me? For one, it’s better to cook for someone besides myself. I also don’t feel like I’m in anyone’s way anymore. With regular roommates, you have to be polite, respectful, buy your own food, and not make messes. However, I’m neurotic about cleaning up as I go, because I can’t stand messes. It’s actually just better to not have to cook in someone else’s mess. Now since I’m the only person that uses the kitchen, and I have a boy to cook for that likes almost anything, it’s not so bad. Especially when he buys the groceries and does the dishes.
The best part is that the professional chef in my recent cooking class was very impressed with my folding capabilities whilst making Warm Molten Chocolate Cake. It made me feel warm inside, although that could’ve been the two glasses of wine I downed before mixing the batter. Either way, I can honestly admit that I like to cook and bake. If that makes me a typical housewife, so be it. At least we’ll eat well.