My husband is an amazing cook. When it comes to recipes, he’s adventurous and patient. As a gardener, he knows his food and as an avid fan of eating, he understands the importance of presentation. I always enjoy the meals he prepares. I just don’t enjoy the preparation process so much. Or the collateral damage.
No matter how many times he makes a meal, Brian brings the same intensity as he did the first time he put pan to flame. It’s something one has to live through to fully appreciate. Like any frustrated artist with a penchant for perfection, he wields his tools with a focused concentration that makes others stay out of his way.
You realize that when he’s in that moment, he’s not fully rational and he’s completely unaware of what’s occurring around him. The spoon is his left hand is quickly forgotten by his right as he dashes to the drawer to grab another. There is a frantic, panicky air to his movements and if, God forbid, for some reason the dish doesn’t meet his preconceived idea of what it is supposed to look like, there is a string of modified foul language that is not likely to scar the children, but does leave them questioning what a Godforsaken-mother-of-a-one-eyed-witch-loving-frog might be.
There’s even a stance. When Brian is in the kitchen, there is an ever-present towel over his shoulder, sometimes more than one. His feet are spread shoulder distance apart, his head is down and his arms are at least five inches from his sides. His concentration is unbreakable and if you attempt to interrupt, be prepared for a blank stare that somehow manages to convey contempt.
All of this, though a little odd – and a lot amusing – is bearable. Each of us has his quirks and, as noted, in Brian’s case, the end result is worth the peculiar behavior. Brian’s beer-battered fish fry is known and loved for miles around, his grilled cheese is unbeatable and he makes the lowly bluefish into a culinary marvel. From the basic to the sophisticated, he has a gift in the kitchen.
But sometimes, a gift is also a curse. Brian’s ability to make magic with bacon is, for me, often overshadowed by his inability to create that magic without additionally creating an ever-loving mess that would suck the happy right out of the Merry Maids and bring Mary Poppins to her knees.
Not only is my kitchen transformed into a war zone of grease stains and dirty knives, but the whole food-preparation process causes Brian to suffer from PMPSD: post-meal-prep stress disorder. Symptoms include the inability to see the filth he has created and the irrational belief that if he cooks the meal, he shouldn’t have to help clean up.
Though this can be a fair trade with some chefs in some kitchens, it’s not in our situation. Brian’s meal prep often involves dirtying every fork in the house, requiring dishwashing just to eat the meal he so painfully created. And no, I didn’t mean to write painstakingly, I meant painfully. For me. It hurts to watch the devastation of our kitchen — and not just because I spend so much time in it. Mostly it hurts because I will get stuck cleaning it up.
My kitchen is not a large room. It has very little counter space and if one person is making food, it takes a hard-to-attain symbiosis to do anything else without disrupting the space-time continuum. Over the years, I have learned to contain my mess to a two-by-two area. I have also learned the vital skill of cleaning as I go. By the time the meal is served, there is rarely evidence that it was even prepared in my house.
Done chopping the onion? Spray down and wipe the cutting board. Finished making the meatballs? Wash the bowl. Don’t need the salt again? Put it back in the cabinet. It seems like such a simple and sensible process.
But not for Brian. When he is serving a meal, behind him is a filthy mix of discarded food scraps, stacks of crusty dishes and a stove spotted with at least two unidentifiable sticky and/or greasy substances. It makes me wonder about the purpose of that dish towel he wears so religiously.
Luckily, the desire to cook doesn’t strike Brian that often. Mostly, he’s happy with whatever I put on the table (unless he’s not, but that’s a story for another day) and he even gets right in there when it’s time for clean-up. While I don’t think I’ll ever be able to teach him how to maximize dishwasher space to fit more dishes then the laws of physics should allow, he’s come a long way. So far along, in fact, that I even have hope that one day, when he says he’s finished cleaning the kitchen, the statement will include the pots on the stove that are not currently visible to the male eye.
If you’ve wandered into the kitchen on your way to bed and noticed the skillet is still sitting there, lonely, afraid and now, with baked-on, caked-on, stuck-on food, your spouse may also suffer from blind-to-pots disease. Currently, there is no cure (for him), but the pot can be saved. If elbow grease just doesn’t cut it, make a simple baking soda and water paste. It’s amazing what this combo can take on. I also use it to make my kitchen sink sparkle and to eliminate the ring in the shower.
Baking Soda scrub
1/2 cup baking soda
enough water to make a thick paste
Using a scrub brush, work the mix into the caked on food. It helps to soak for about 10 minutes or so first. Repeat as necessary. Or throw the pot at the person who left it on the burner and let them figure it out.
I recently learned a brand new trick. My teenager washes dishes. By hand. I love this tool and plan to rely on it pretty heavily. Oh, and he empties the dishwasher, too. I wish I could clone him. Just kidding. He is still a teenager, after all.
Laurie Nigro, a mother of two, is passionate about her family, her community, and natural living. Laurie resides in downtown Riverhead and is co-founder of the River and Roots Community Garden on West Main Street.
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