Culinary Terrorism

Has it ever occurred to you that cooking a pot roast could be worse than death or frying an egg more terrifying than Osama Bin Laden? I hadn't either until I heard the pathos and terror in my friend's voice as she retold the horrors of trying to cook for a gastronomically inclined husband who expects more than a steady diet of quesadillas and refried beans.

We were sitting at the kitchen table drinking coffee and looking at recipes when she began to pour out her soul and the depths of her anguish. She was beside herself telling me of her complete lack of interest in cooking.

"I would clean a bathroom four times before I'd choose to make dinner," she wailed. "I try to find good recipes, but I don't even know what they are talking about half the time. I take my cookbook to the butcher counter to ask what a pork loin is or where in the world I'd find a rump roast.

One day I decided to try sweet and sour pork for dinner. I got everything I needed and started cooking. The pork had to be battered and then fried in oil. I started it way too late and Tom got home way too early. I was battering and frying away, but it was taking forever for the pork to cook. I was so afraid I wouldn't cook it enough and we would get some horrible parasite or something. The baby was wailing and Tom could do nothing to comfort her. The more he tried, the more she howled. The pork was sizzling and I was trying to hurry. Tom was hungry and losing patience.

Finally, he told me to take the baby and he'd finish cooking the dinner. I was so relieved I wanted to cry. Sophie finally settled down and Tom announced that dinner was served. He brought me a plate filled with charred bits of pork. They tasted so bad I didn't even want to eat them. It was horrible. I should have made ground beef."

I couldn't help chuckling about my friend's culinary malaise. She was being terrorized by the cook-top and phantoms of what she felt she should be capable of doing. The fact that Tom's family are devout foodies didn't help.

I made suggestions of various meals that seemed manageable, but her reply was that "Tom's mom makes that and has been perfecting it for years. I could never make it as well as she does."

That's when I pulled out my favorite ace-in-the-hole cooking advice. "Do you ever use the crock pot? It's pretty fail proof, and when your hubby gets home from work, he'll smell dinner cooking."

"Yeah, I get points for that."

"My favorite crock pot cookbook is Fix-It and Forget-It. It has everything from apple pie to beef au jus."

I think she picked it up at Barnes and Noble the next day. The only downside is that Fix-It and Forget-It doesn't have a lot of pictures, which are always very helpful. Recently, I discovered a fun blog written by a ranch wife in Oklahoma who documents her recipes with detailed photographs. Victims of culinary terrorism and devout foodies alike will enjoy Ree Drummond's fun presentation and tasty ideas. You can visit her blog at The Pioneer Woman.com.

And anytime someone would like to trade cleaning for cooking, I'm all for it. I'd happily trade dinner for a clean room. My housekeeping skills would horrify my friend, but we'll dispel my phantoms another day.