I didn't use to cook. There was a time when I couldn't make more than salad & a sandwich. People who have only known me in the last few years would never believe it, but I used to heat up a mean can of Chef Boyardee.
See, I wasn't raised with homemade food. I've been feeding myself since I could see the top of the counter, and all I could reach was the microwave. If it didn't need a can-opener or some bread, I didn't eat it. Honestly, I don't think I even knew that people made their own food. I assumed all people were fed by jolly white chefs who's pictures were emblazoned on cans of "pasta". Of course, I also thought everyone's power and phone were cut off every month - so, what did I know??
When I started dating my husband, the first thing his mother said was "You need a Mexican woman. She'll cook for you every night... that girl won't feed you anything." Did someone say "challenge"? Because that's what I heard. Then his sister was constantly making snide comments about my presence in the kitchen of my own house. Now, aside from my immense irritation with these two women, I was worried that they may be right. And, since I can't ever let anyone be more right than me, I taught myself to cook.
It started with boxed "meals". You know... add a pound of hamburger or an egg and oil. And, I was so proud of myself. *cringe* I was feeding my man (and our daughter), so you couldn't tell me anything. Then I started thinking "outside of the box". After all, if someone could figure out what to put in the mixes I could certainly do the same. What made that stupid faced-glove smarter than me? I certainly didn't need his help to make hamburger casserole. And, that's where it all started.
Now, here we are ten years later and I haven't used pre-made anything in a long time. Everything that goes into my family (except the garbage their grandparent's feed them - which I refuse to ask about) is made from scratch. I know exactly what is in every bite on their forks, and I'm proud of that. Does that mean I look down on people who still dump the contents of a can in a pot and serve it to their kids? Of course not. I don't have a job outside of the house, but I know how hard it must be to work all day and come home to feed your family. Working mothers don't have time to simmer soup all day or stand over a pot of enchilada sauce for hours making sure the seasoning is right. However, I do have that kind of time. Or at least I can fit it in between refereeing fights and helping with homework. So, I do.
So many people have made a big deal out of how much I cook. Yes, I spend 80% of my time in the kitchen. Yes, if Maya walks in there and I'm not standing in front of the stove, she starts to panic and scream out my name. Yes, my girls have never been introduced to Chef Boyardee or Papa Anyone. Will they kick me for that one day? Maybe, but I hope they'll appreciate the time I put into their bellies.
In first grade, Sofia told a mom who had brought cupcakes in to class for a birthday, "I don't eat cake from a store." Last year, Eva came home and told me "Mama, no one else's mom makes the bread for their sandwiches." When Maya plays in the kitchen, she's making "chocolate cupcakes with cream cheese filling and chocolate ganache".
Yes, I may have gotten a little crazy with it.
Yes, my husband does occasionally ask for Hamburger Helper or frozen pizza. Yes, he is denied every time.
But all I can say is... there's not a woman in his family who can out-cook me now. He has even confessed that my food is better than his sainted sister's.
Point.
Match.
Game.
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