I dreamed last night I made a Southern roasted chicken dinner with mashed potatoes and all the trimmings for my future beau and I woke up just after making the gravy. The dream went through all the various steps to prepare each item from start to finish. WTF, I’m domesticating in my sleep.
This reminds me of the time when a militant feminist mocked me for cooking meals for my then boyfriend. She tried to shame me for serving “wifey” duties without being married. I had to remind her that as far back as time has been recorded, the woman cooked meals for the man BEFORE marriage as part of her role in the courtship. It was believed it was the way to a man’s heart, but more importantly, the man needed to know his future wife had competent domestic skills to properly run his household. In a sense, it was an audition, at least with the common working man living a simple life, looking forward to a relaxing, good meal at the end of a hard work day.
I recall there was an experiment done with professional chefs that involved chefs who were happily married and chefs who were going through a divorce. They were all given the same recipe to prepare. Guess who’s food won the taste tests? The happier chefs. Good food is love in translation in its own way, a reflection of the passions of the cook passed on to their diners. The same thing happens with the woman (or man) who loves to cook for their partner, family and friends. There are few times that are happier than a group of people getting together for good fellowship and dining on a well-prepared meal.
And if you accidentally burn the dinner, the dogs will love it and there’s always take-out…
