The Culinary Adventures of One Who Should Know Better

A Dilemma

There's an inherent dilemma in Abbie's going away and leaving me here by myself for a month: I have to get by on my own but not look like I get by very well. Ironing of clothes seemed to be a big concern, and one of the ladies of the church has offered to do the ironing. The fact is that ever since I was in university, I have been capable of ironing my own clothes...not fast perhaps, but sufficiently well for my needs. Of course, with Abbie around, why should I iron? In the present situation the solution is obvious: I iron my clothes, but take care to put an extra crease down the leg of the trousers or the shirt sleeve. That means I can do this household task, but Abbie can obviously do it better, so her position is validated.

The same is true of other areas of domestic duties, but the real problem is in the kitchen. I can't afford to eat in such a way that I gain weight (it would look like she can't cook), or that I lose weight (it would look like I can't cook).  The down-to-earth question, however, is much more practical: now that I'm home, what's for supper?

Saturday night, for example, after beating the bushes at Yvonne's house, then having a practice session for the music on Sunday, it was almost 9:00 p.m. and I opened the refrigerator to see the one obvious option: a fennel bulb. I saw it in the store this week, and on an impulse, bought it. Abbie's fixed fennel a time or two, so I knew it was edible. Straight from the refrigerator to Google: "how to fix fennel?" In milliseconds, I was presented with thousands of options, but it was obvious this vegetable was going to be a hit: it's virtually indestructible! You can boil it, braise it, roast it, cut it, chop it, soup it, grill it or slice it raw for a salad. There's no way you can't eat it. Let's go for the salad option, I said to myself. At this late hour, I don't want to be into roasting times...keep it simple.

"Thin slices"...that's what the recipe said. Not sure what that means. I tried slicing the fennel bulb in three different directions and no matter how I sliced it, it always looked more like diced than sliced. Whatever. Raw is raw, no matter what the shape.

Shaved parmesan. Parmesan I like, parmesan I have. So far so good. The recipe pretty much ended about there, but I had some rocket (look it up if you don't know what it is), and I like that, too, so why not? A dozen or so leaves of that added to the mix.  And walnuts! I have walnuts, and some of the fancy salads in the fancy restaurants have walnuts, so why not? A dozen or so walnuts broken up into the salad. I have a fancy salad.

Olive oil. Can't do without that. "Drizzle" would be the way the recipe says to add olive oil. The "drizzler" feature on my olive oil bottle didn't do "drizzle" very well, though. But I figure, if a little is good, a lot is really good. And behold, it was.

So there's the dilemma: I'm in danger of being found out.  Abbie will come back home and say to herself (and to me), "The old coot can cook after all, so why am I in the kitchen instead of him?" At which point a double crease in the pants leg will probably not get me off the hook for ironing, either.