Christmas Cooking Madness

Things have been a bit rocky on the home front of late. Everyone is a little frazzled because it is the end of year and that big C-word is bearing down faster than Rudolph can tow Santa’s sleigh.

Our tired temperaments became apparent when I hissed at my husband in a fit of frustration one seemingly innocuous Tuesday night that he cooks like a “deranged maniac”. My husband is a very calm person and he looked me serenely in the eyes and quietly replied: “Okay, well, ‘deranged maniac’ are very strong words, so let’s talk about this.”

Wind back time an hour or so and the household was in full swing with kids coming home late from sport, mess all over the kitchen bench, dogs barking with the excitement of Mum finally arriving home from work carrying grocery bags and just the general loud cacophony of a busy house with a zillion things to get done before bedtime.

My hubby had kindly cooked hamburgers for dinner while I took the kids and got showers and all that jazz underway. They were delicious, with an extra few layers of luxury, including caramelised onion and pickles. But when I stacked up the plates from everyone’s laps and announced it was my turn to clean up, this is where it all came unstuck. I turned back into the kitchen to find what looked like a crime scene. Dirty frypans were on the stove top. Jars of food sat on the bench with lids sitting lazily next to them. Cheese was scattered on the floor.  It was a big fat mess as though drunk people had partied for a week.

You see, there are two types of people in this world: those who clean as they cook and those who leave the whole glorious mess until the end. I clean as I go because that is the only way to cook. I am not a monster. Hubby lets it all hang loose.  He has no problems making the biggest mess imaginable, as if magic fairies will come and clean it up afterwards. Except that night the fairy was in a foul mood.

So, on this terrible Tuesday night it all came to a yelling head with me telling hubby he cooks like a “deranged maniac’’.  Too strong? Quite possibly. And I did feel a tiny bit guilty afterwards. I don’t think my husband will ever be a clean cook, but I am thankful he at least cooks. And I did catch him screwing the lid back on a jar this week. He is not a silly man. Happy wife: happy life! Hang in there, people!

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