While shopping for peaches this weekend, I inquired of the woman at the vegetable stand if she might have some in the back that were bruised and too ripe to have on display. I told her I prefer those for making cobbler. She wanted to know the occasion and it started a conversation about cooking and marriage that inspired me to testify about something that works for me.
I never aspired to be a good cook. I burn something in the kitchen at least weekly and create culinary disappointments on a regular basis. But my family insists I’m a great cook and I suppose 30 years of experience give me that claim to fame. For me, cooking is not about blending the right spices and seasonings to create just the right flavor. It's a way to say, "I love you".
People talk about knowing your spouse’s “love language”. Before I’d ever read Gary Smalley’s book on the subject, I’d figured out how to speak Jim’s love language and it’s not words. The gift of my time is what means the most to him and the gift of my time spent in the kitchen is worth twice as much.
Over the years, I’ve heard more than a few catty remarks from women who don’t understand or appreciate my desire to have a home-cooked dinner on the table for my family every night, ideally at the preferred time of 6 o’clock. They’ve implied that I’m in bondage to some “old school” thinking that demeans women.
If caring enough about the love of my life to speak in his food language that there’s nothing more important to me than him is “old school”, then sign me up for that school, please. It works for me.
Tonight at my house, love smells like peach cobbler. And that’s sweet.
I've decided to submit this last-minute entry to Scribbit's June Monthly Writing Contest just for the fun of it. The subject this month is food and I can't resist the chance to win a picnic basket that brings back wonderful childhood memories of picnics on a red checkered tablecloth!