My Husband Cooks

You should know I don't cook. And when I say I don't cook, I mean not. at. all. If you invite me over for a dinner party and I offer to help, what I'm really offering is if I can add ice to the glasses or fold the napkins or wipe down the counters. Ask me to chop the onion and I'm out.

Growing up, I remember Ma often starting a Monday by saying, "OK Sweetie, I should teach you how to cook this week." And I would respond (probably with a respectful eye roll) by telling her very practically that I was planning on marrying a man who would cook for me. Even though she rolled her eyes right back and never did really teach me, I'm sure she never really thought it would work out for me. Or maybe she added that to her prayer list for my future husband (man of God, SUPER patient, appreciates quirkiness...good cook).

And that's exactly what happened. I married a cook. And he's turning into a chef I tell you. Below are some Instagram pics to prove it. (Yes, I take pictures of his amazing food - follow me on Instagram if you want your jaw to drop often).

Fruit Chimichangas (or heaven on a plate)

THIS is a typical Saturday breakfast

Here's the great part. He LOVES it. You can see from the pictures that he puts a ton of thought and creativity into each of his dishes he makes for his family. For some crazy reason, cooking helps him destress. The Food Network is my husband's ESPN. And he rarely uses a recipe. In fact, if he makes something that I especially like, the convo will go something like this:  

Me: Babe, this is really good. Will you pleeeese remember how you made this for next time? 

Chef Extraordinaire: You know there's no way I'll remember exactly how I made this

So, that's one downside to his creative genius; it's different every time.

"Just dessert" he says...

As you can see, I made out pretty good. And so did my kids. I mean, had I not married Jamy my kids would be eating mac and cheese and frozen pizzas and store bought crackers. And maybe some Lunchables or something else I feel is balanced like the food pyramid. But instead we have a man in the house who makes sure we're fed with yummy, healthy (ok - that's not always true), and beautiful food. Saturday mornings he'll make a full on breakfast of potato pancakes (my fav) or fritters or egg bake or cinnamon rolls (we'll talk about why I want to lose a few pounds later).

BUT, I do make a mean tater tot casserole. (I know I just lost all my organic-clean-eating friends in the blog world. Deal with it.) I told one of my birth mamas this once and she almost spit out her Starbucks across the table laughing. She offered to teach me to cook. So until I get some cooking lessons from clients, when I'm up to cook at the VanSyckle's tater tot cass it is people.

Yes, that rice is in the shape of a heart

So we have a good system going. He cooks dinner and I clean up. Although admittedly I get the much better end of the stick.

There is one drawback. Neither one of us can make chocolate chip cookies to save our life. Sorry,  kids.  Oreos it is.

*Update: after Jamy read this post, he says, "What?!  You posted those pictures?" I guess the eggs were a little "messy" in one...  My apologies, Babe.