he was whisking flour into a bubbling wine and butter mix as i leaned against the wall facing him. i remember asking him, “so what kind of a cook are you?” which i think i really meant as, “what do you usually cook?” but instead came out as this impossible question that was also a little confrontational. he threw the question back at me and i couldn’t find a decent answer for it–i’m only moderately confident in the kitchen and as it is i cook very rarely these days.
but by then the conversation stopped. i got distracted watching his left hand hold the pan as his right hand swirled the mixture around lightly. too lightly to create a decent roux. the whisk seemed to be hovering in the air above the simmering ingredients in the pan, it was barely scraping the bottom of the pan, and the flour was clumping against the shallots that were sitting around the sides. i was feeling anxious witnessing the sauce fall away in those key moments when the butter and the flour needed to be mixed and mixed and mixed until they became the roux that was going to either make or break the pasta we were going to have in a few minutes. on the back burner a pot half full with water was heating when he poured in the pasta. it wasn’t boiling yet but in the pasta went. i held my tongue. i’d never seen anything like that. there was so much happening in my brain. on top of all of this, it was completely silent on the stove. where was the chhh chhh chhhh that accompanies the sounds of dinner coming together in the kitchen? everything was simmering, but nothing seemed to be actually cooking the way it needed to be.
and then, unable to stand by any longer, i said with what i hope was good natured humor: “i’m kind of resisting the urge to tell you to move over right now.”
i’m not sure what he said after that, i was so intent on getting dinner back on track, but maybe we laughed, it’s possible i kissed him, and then he slid over and handed me the whisk and then i finished up the meal. did i mention that he invited me over so he could cook for me?
last weekend we were at his new place trying to figure out dinner again and after talking about a few ideas and flipping through this massive cook book i asked him if it was okay if i decided what to do with all the great stuff he had in his fridge and he laughed and said, “ha, i would prefer that.” and then i set to scrubbing the potatoes and cutting them up and mincing the garlic while he did something else in the kitchen. what was he doing? i have no idea. washing dishes maybe. and just as i was wrapping up the potatoes and seasoning them he came over and slid his arms around my waist and rested his chin on my shoulder and said that really, it was fine for me to figure out dinner because he felt kind of intimidated by me in the kitchen.
and i could feel something being cemented, something awful that i didn’t want to have any place in in my dealings with people i’m dating. i’m all for the division of labor in relationships but i think there’s a way that in hetero relationships (the only thing i’ve got experience with) women enjoy a little bit too much the power they have in the kitchen, and the ease with which they can scoot men out of there and whip up some delicious dinner. i see it all the time. the mother who holds off teaching her beloved son how to cook because it’s the one last thing she really can do for him that he can’t do, or has been raised to believe he can’t, do for himself. the new bride who wakes up 15 minutes before her husband so she can pack both of their lunches for the day, and makes sure she has dinner on the table every night she’s home, even when she’s worked a long shift at the hospital–even though her husband only makes dinner for himself when she works a night shift. women get all the credit but have all the burden. and then men get off easy as they plead ignorance about the ways of the kitchen.
cooking is no great mystery. like everything worthwhile it takes time, and effort, and a little creativity. it’s not women’s work. it’s love’s work.
one of my biggest fears about having kids is that my life will change so radically, and in a way that my partner’s won’t, that i’ll end up having to forfeit my professional goals, my big life dreams. i’m sure a little person would bring its own kind of fulfillment, but i can feel the resentment choking me already as i imagine my partner getting promoted or published, receiving accolades, moving and building a career for himself while i let my writing dreams fall away. that fear alone is enough to make me not want to be a mother. so if i want an equal partner i have to treat men like they’re my equals in these spaces.
a few days later we were chatting and i asked about the dinner he’d cooked, said it was something simple, easy, some kind of a stirfry. it sounded good, and i told him that, and told him too that i suspect that he’s probably pretty competent in the kitchen, and that whatever kitchen nervousness i’d seen with him was probably a little bit of a front. i fully believe the first part of that, but think i’m partially responsible for the latter.
oh, and it turned out that the pasta was perfectly done when he cooked it his way, with the barely boiling water. you learn something new every time.
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