Cooking for one is about as fun as watching a one horse rodeo. I’m obviously not a fan, but I’ve had to jump on the solitary culinary bandwagon due to Parish’s crazy work schedule. My current menu: cereal, Jolly Green Giant steamed veggies, tuna melts, salad, salsa and chips – repeat. I know, it’s kind of sad.
But my husband, who doubles as a great chef, is away working on a large, commercial job. I miss him and his cooking. As a young woman, I know I should have an arsenal of recipes that I can whip up in a moment’s notice, but I don’t. I actually found a recipe for a peach cobbler that called for four ingredients. It sounds like you could almost make it sitting down, on the couch. I was talking to my aunt in Colorado and we were talking about how her parents (my grandparents) would can everything. My aunt said that my grandma used to make the best-pickled green beans.
Sadly, she left this Earth before I got to meet her or try some of her famous cooking. I remember trying pickled pigs feet (my grandpa’s specialty) when I was younger, and even though they jiggled and were an odd shade of pink, I liked them. Canning seems to be a lost art that is re-emerging and catching on. Kitchen Co., in the Heights, hosts cooking classes, and I read that they recently taught a class on canning. I believe it was around $55 per person for the class and I thought – that would buy a lot of canned veggies, but I know it’s not the same. At this point in life, I don’t think I have the gumption or extra time to devote to canning. Maybe when I have kids one day and the price and list of ingredients found inside processed foods gets to me, I will can. Until then, I’m happy paying others to do the job.
Before Parish left me this week, he cooked extra pieces of chicken; some pork chops and made a huge pot of mashed potatoes. I know – he’s a keeper! He also prepared this huge breakfast scramble with bacon, eggs, potatoes and sausage. We ate some of it for brunch on Sunday, and he put away the rest. “You will be able to eat on that for a couple of days,” he said with a sweet smile. Later in the day, he sauntered to the fridge in need of a snack. In a moment of weakness and hunger, he grabbed the leftover breakfast scramble and made himself two burritos. I didn’t think much of it. Surely there was still enough for me for one or two days.
The next morning as I was rushing around making coffee and picking out what to wear, I pulled the bowl containing the once heaping scramble, peeled off the lid and stared into the abyss. What the heck? Where was the thoughtful breakfast that was supposed to get me through the week? It had dwindled down to about six bites. Not wanting to complain and knowing that breakfast is the most important meal of the day, I popped the leftovers in the microwave and poured a cup of coffee. Beggars can’t be choosers! Maybe I should invest in a cooking class or two and add some more horses to the rodeo.