One does not simply pretend Operation Recipe Swap never happened

I’m turning 40 in less than a month.

One of the things I’ve noticed people my age like to do is make statements about who we are. How we’re this type of person and not that type. I think it’s so that we only do the things we want to and don’t get roped into (any more) the things we don’t want to do. It’s a right at this age. And I’m trying it on for size here in this post.

So let me tell you that I am a starter.

I start things. I like to use words like “envision,” “imagine,” and “what if.” I’ve started businesses and ministry and small groups and book clubs and like 10 different blogs. I start things because I have ideas. And how will these idea come to life without starting something with them?

Sometimes being a starter can look like being a quitter because you may have to leave one or some things behind to start other things. I’ve been feeling this way, certainly in the past few months, since Operation Recipe Swap has come to a premature end, whether I publicly admitted it or not. I’ve had to make time-purges when I started a full-time job in the summer. There’s just no extra time to learn to cook, never mind blog about it.

But truth be told, I think I quit before I started my new job and it was just handy to have a great excuse.

I’d had a brilliant lesson in the spring with my friend Chelsea, who had shown me how to cook the world’s best steak and demystified mashed potatoes and steamed asparagus. I sat on her recipes for a while, attempting to write about our lovely rainy afternoon together. But I was stuck on this point: I don’t want to do this any more.

My feelings were linked to an experience that happened at Easter, a week or so before my lesson with Chelsea, which had the effect of rapidly deflating my will to continue.

Let me explain. I’d come up against some friction with John-Mark in the early stages of Operation Recipe Swap, but for the most part he was really great at saying, yes, carry out your cute little experiment in my kitchen. He gave me permission to go play. So I did.

From time to time I’d check in with him.  “Are you OK with my reorganizing the spice drawer?”  “Do you mind that I made this our ‘baking cupboard?'” His “encouragement” took on an if-you-must quality to it.

But there came a boiling point for our culinary friction. It happened over the preparation of Easter dinner.

J-M and my mom have the cutest tradition of making the family holiday meals together when we host everyone at our house. But this time I volunteered to make the meal. I’d put what I learned from the previous six month to the test. I would cook for my family. I’d do the roast beef and potatoes I’d made on my birthday with all the fixin’s, gravy just like Deb makes, and even tapis a la Tanya! I would make enough to serve 19 of us. It was going to be FABULOUS. I laid out the ingredients the night before.

The next morning, I woke up to find J-M putting the roast in the oven, seasoned and all (and not with the spices I’d chosen). “I thought it would be a help to you,” he answered my expression of shock.

This is what I heard.

Before we psycho-analyze how I deal with (perceived) criticism. I figured out I was over-reacting internally before anyone else did, thankyouverymuch.

I know that some of you ladies reading this blog have zero sympathy right now. That a husband who cooks meals for you – especially Easter dinner – is a dream come true, right?

That’s the clincher! I wanted to be offended. In the spirit of Operation Recipe Swap, I wanted to be incensed! But I was RELIEVED. It is a dream for one’s husband to cook every meal.

That’s when I had to take a good hard look at the fact that I might be forcing myself to continue this experiment. For what, fodder for the blog? Bad idea if so, because this gets old pretty quick.

Did I truly want to stir the pot and make changes to a system that has been working perfectly well in our home? I had to go back to the impetus for starting this experiment.

I DID want/need to learn to cook – I was missing out on a life skill – and I wanted to learn more it from my friends who delight in it – the best way for it to sink in, I’d hoped. I thought my discovery might be a discovery for us all.

Six months of lessons meant that I, indeed, learned the survival skill! I can safely say that I could keep myself and my family alive. If I needed to.

Plus:

• Beyond boiling, I know almost all the ways to cook an egg
• I can mash and roast potatoes
• I no longer feel squeamish around raw meat
• Cutting onions make you cry, there’s no way around it
• I can make lumpless gravy
• I get the deal with the baking at Christmas
• My daughter asked me just today if I would make beef barley stew again and I said yes.

I can’t unlearn these things.

Being in my friends’ kitchens was the best part. I loved learning about their philosophies about cooking or baking and seeing simple ingredients come to life in mouth-watering dishes. Their creativity opened up my eyes to a whole new world. I was fascinated by how every kitchen is different, what with tupperware cupboards, spice drawers, pots and pans “solutions,” junk drawers… This I will miss. But then again it doesn’t have to be a project to exchange recipes or take an interest in how someone makes a to-die-for pie (which Trish Taylor taught me and I’m hoping to bake for Thanksgiving!). I can participate in an idea without starting a campaign, imagine that.

I have obtained enough vocab and know-how to join the cooking community and ACTUALLY swap recipes! That in and of itself is huge and I’m owning it, OK? 

So thank you friends who taught and those who offered to teach. I love you for trying. I love you for being vulnerable by opening your cupboards and drawers and (sometimes) letting me cook in your kitchens. I love you for letting me record our conversations. And you must love me too because I am now sitting on potential blackmail material from some of you. (It’s amazing the secrets that are told in kitchens!)

So I will let you know that I’m not a cook, but I can cook. I’m not a baker, but I can bake. I’m really a starter, and I’ll start by giving J-M his kitchen back. P.S. J-M posted this on my Facebook wall recently. I think it’s a not-so-subtle message that he’s on board with the new plan.

P.P.S. The Operation Recipe Swap Group continues on Facebook. I chime in from time to time with some good stuff, no kidding!

Turning the Tables – Guest Post by Debbie Jensen

I was thrilled when my friend Deb (who, you will remember, taught me how to make “the fixins” for a Christmas meal) offered to write a guest post for Operation: Recipe Swap. But wait, it’s about having me as a cooking student! The kitchen table has been turned… 

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So, you have been reading Lori’s blogs about her adventures in cooking.  I would like to speak for those of us who have had the experience of actually having this lovely woman in our homes.  OK, so I can only give you my experience, but maybe some of the other teachers can relate.

Back to the Future with Pineapple Upside Down Cake

Dear Betty,

I am a neophyte when it comes to baking.  I shouldn’t have volunteered to bring a cake for Friday night’s event and then showed up with nothing! I realized after the fact that it must have increased your stress level.  I am SO sorry.  If that ever happens again, I will at least go to the store and get something to replace it.  I honestly didn’t even think about it till afterward… and then I was horrified.

In your debt,
Loreli

And so I learned the hard way that, when baking, to leave enough time to either make or purchase a replacement if it doesn’t turn out.

Going Old-School, Heirloom Spaghetti Sauce

My friend Christa said she would be thrilled to teach me a recipe and how about the whole family come over on a Sunday afternoon!  The girls can cook while the boys watch football.  Which is like blowing off the dust on the sexology file,  How Men and Women Should Spend their Sundays.   Hey, why not?  This could be *retro fun!

For those of you who know Christa, you probably think of her as a gentle soul, calm and patient, the perfect temperament for teaching a novice to cook.  As I’ve gotten to know Christa, however, what others might mistake for a shy demeanor is actually really, really good listening skills.  I was looking forward to being in her company and listening to her this time.  This Sunday, the roles would be reversed in more ways than one!

Pickier than she thought – Part I

The Idea

It was at the end of summer, my husband and I were enjoying some late afternoon rays with our friends, Bob and Lisa, at their lakeside home, having a relaxing, casual conversation.  I said to Lisa, “So… I’ve got this crazy idea.”

The Chili that Keeps on Giving – Part II

Kim and I worked together to complete the chili.  One of us would stir while the other one chopped and vice versa.  “How am I going to be able to make this without Kim?” I wondered.

Plus Kim has some really decent kitchen tools.  In particular, sharp knives, whimsical slicers, melon ballers, twisty turny things, and fancy cutlery.  She said everything tastes better with her musical fork.  I do not own any musical forks, so that’s not really fair that all her meals taste better than mine.

A Birthday Meal – Part I

The Occasion

I didn’t feeling like cooking on my birthday. When I’d booked the date with my mom, I thought it would be a fun thing to do, maybe even make it extra special.  You know, when you complete a challenge, it can add to the merriment.

But I was feeling down on my 39th birthday.  Some birthdays are harder than others.

Just like Becky makes

The Relationship

Becky was born 6 years and 2 months after me.  I already had an older sister and a younger brother; I was desperate for an ally.  My mom (and dad) accommodated my unspoken request and gave birth to one of my favourite people on the planet.  From the moment she was born, I claimed Becky for my own.  I would take her everywhere I went.  I taught her the alphabet and how to wear make-up.  She taught me how to make-believe and, today, how to cook. Or, to be fair, today she taught me how to make beef barley stew.

Of all of us Galbraith girls, Becky has embraced her dark domestic side the most.  She is creative and crafty and is always delighted to play the part of hostess.  She happily embraces activities like scrap-booking or make-your-own Christmas decorations.  She loves the letters D-I-Y.  Everything she touches turns into beauty. This gift applies to cooking as well. She gets such great joy out of creating and dreaming up new dishes even says things like “I’m so in love with cooking.”  Why don’t you marry it then, right?  Plus Joy is her middle name.  It was appropriate  that Becky was my first teacher.

My assessment of the “Man’s Kitchen”

I’m taking a look at OUR kitchen with new eyes today.  My excuse for this room has that it’s a man’s kitchen, the place where my husband spends a lot of his time and the place where I do not.  (Think about it, guys, a new take on the man cave!)  J-M’s acquired responsibilities are grocery shopping and preparing meals.  I never do these things unless he physically cannot (i.e. he is away on a trip or is sick).  This means he stocks and organizes most of the cupboards with the equipment and ingredients he needs.

A man doesn’t mind putting Off in with the sugar… and garlic pills?

Operation: Recipe Swap

This post has been written, but not published, for over a month.  The idea has been percolating in my head since the summer.  I’ve held onto it because it actually frightens me to suggest what is set out below.  I will become accountable to my words.  But as time passes by, the longer I wait, the more I feel an urgency to make this happen…

A few years ago, John-Mark went away for a couple weeks.  I had a friend over to cook for me because – for fear of repeating myself – I don’t.  When this friend asked for items to aid with the preparation of the meal, like oven mitts, baking sheets, or serving dishes, I was at a  loss to find them.  Did we even own any?  When she used the stove top, it emitted a noxious odor from something that had spilled over from a previous meal from who knows how long ago.  When I went to set the table, I was embarrassed to see that our cutlery drawer was unorganized and full of crumbs, as if someone buttered their toast directly over it, for weeks.   How had I not seen that before?  My excuse for all these things, which I repeated to my gracious friend ad nauseum that evening, “This is a man’s kitchen.”