In those early years of marriage, we lived quite contentedly together. Thomas agreed with everything, really! Both of us worked hardwe saved every pound we could for the deposit on our mortgage. Food was never an issue. Thomas ate whatever was put on his plate. I never troubled myself much; I bought a slow cooker and prepared straightforward dishesporridge, casseroles, stews. I never heard a complaint. Granted, Thomas would sometimes wistfully mention wanting something special
What do you mean, something special? Id ask.
Oh, you know, hed reply, Yorkshire puddings with roast beef filling, home-made steak and kidney pies, cold jellied meats like my gran used to make, or proper pasties. He had a real fondness for those complicated English dishes that required several steps: boiling, cooling, assembling the crust, baking, then seasoning everything just soa true days work at the stove, really. And you couldnt just buy them ready-made from the shopnot at all! They had to be homemade and from scratch.
When did this longing start? Well, about two years after I went on maternity leave. Honestly, cooking isnt my passion, but I always do it. Thomas is out of the house all day, earning our living at the office. It never happens that he comes home and finds nothing to eat; theres always a hot meal waiting, and its never just pasta and sausages. True, its all fairly simplepotatoes and lamb, roast chicken, soup, bubble and squeak, salad. And now Thomas complains! He says, Youve been at home all day, you could easily pull together a meat pie or whip up some homemade dumplings, make some cabbage rolls
I get it. When youre at home with the baby, men tend to forget how much time and energy goes into the day. But its not even about the baby; our daughter Emily has always been a golden childso sweet and calm. I could set her on a chair in the kitchen, hand her a bit of pastry dough, and shed play for hours if I needed. Wed sing songs together and recite nursery rhymes. She never got in the way. But still, I dont want to spend my time making elaborate meals. Particularly since I wont eat such food myselfIm on a diet, trying to cut down on meat and flour. Am I supposed to make all these dumplings just for Thomas? Isnt that a bit unfair?
So, Thomas and I were doing well enough. He rushed home after work every day, never late, except for the annual office party (and even that was brief). He helped with Emily, entirely of his own accordplaying with her, giving her baths, taking her out for walks.
But lately, hes started craving pickled onions, and just last week we had a real argument about it and didnt speak for days.
Thomas simply doesnt grasp how difficult it ismaking pastry from scratch, frying off a dozen Yorkshire puddings, filling them with beef, then for myself and Emily, having to cook something entirely different as we wouldnt eat those heavy dishes!
I think, in todays England, hardly anyone bakes rissoles, brawn, or stuffed cabbage rolls anymore. Maybe just once a year, at Christmas or on Boxing Day. And even then, the younger folks dont fuss about elaborate feasts. Day-to-day, no one bothers. If you really yearn for a proper pie, you can order it inbut its not cheap, especially if youve got a wife on maternity leave and a mortgage to pay. Its hardly something youd do every day.
Thomas often brings up his nans example. She always smelled of warm bread and sweet buns. She worked all her life but somehow still managed to cook elaborate dishes, even while raising a brood of children.
Thats just how things were, I argue. Women in the past simply had nothing else to do in the evenings. No telly, no internet! Of course they filled their time with chores and baking. But Id rather spend my evenings with Emily, walking in the park, than slaving over the stove for three hours!
Not long ago, I rang my mother-in-law, and in a gentle tone, she started up about how the way to a mans heart is through his stomach, and how making Thomass chosen dish isnt all that difficult. Evidently, Thomas had already complained to her.
I told her straight, I dont eat cabbage rolls, so why should I cook them? Naturally, she responded with the usual, as if I were being unreasonable. She even said men sometimes cooked!
So, Thomas, the gourmetwhat do you think? Should a husband, while theres warm and fresh food in the house, demand a variety of elaborate dishes every day? Is it cheeky? Should he simply eat whats offered and not make such a fuss? And if he fancies fancy pies and meats, should he try making them himself?
Or is it right for me, Monica, to bend to his wishes and cook all those things he craves?
