THE COMPROMISE

Do the math: since last March 15 when Covid began wreaking havoc, I have cooked 325 dinners.  Most served in our “garden sunroom” on Villeroy & Boch china with colorful linen napkins and placemats. I don’t mess around. 

Pasta Bolognese. Chicken piccata. Susie’s Hot Dish (family favorite). Broiled salmon with fresh dill and lemon wedges. Fifteen varieties of bean soup. That was just during the first three months of the pandemic. 

In August my exhausted recipe box went into cardiac arrest. All my Ina Garten cookbooks were dog-eared and greasy. I even trolled Martha Stewart on the web for ideas. (“30 potluck side dishes” — OMG, these sound fantastic.) If a friend mentioned a new way to cook cod loins, I tackled her. 

Variety. I needed variety! I had sunk into culinary stupefaction. Most nearby restaurants were closed or took a reservation only if you booked two weeks prior, and that was to sit outside, hopefully near a heater, but invariably at a wobbly table adjacent to the dusty parking lot. 

(Plus, if we decided to go out, we couldn’t let our kids know we were at Alisson’s for fried clams or burgers. Even if we swore we wore double masks and PPE up to our armpits, they’d send the National Guard to make sure we stayed “safely at home.”)

You get the picture.

I sat Mr. Wonderful down and gave him the news.  “I’m not going on strike, I’m simply taking a breather. I’d like you to be in charge of two evening meals each week.” I paused and added, “From now on.” 

Truthfully, he didn’t react as if I presented him with a Sunday ticket to the 2021 Masters.

Gently, but with riveted resolution throbbing through my carotid, I said, “You don’t have to actually cook.” Immediately, exhales and smiles. I think he envisioned making cheese omelets (his specialty) twice a week for the rest of our lives.

“You can pick up dinner at Cherie’s Bistro or Italian sandwiches at the Landing Store. Get fried haddock at Billy’s or cheese fondu from Chez Rosa. I don’t care what it is, where it comes from and I won’t suggest what you get.  Surprise me.” 

So here’s how it’s going. A day later he announced, “I’m ordering Thai. I love Thai and we never have it. I’ll get you lettuce wraps and I’ll have sweet and sour chicken.” He literally drooled when he  added, “And fried rice too!” It was a tasty meal, no pots to clean, so far, so good.

Several days later he bought a New York strip to put on the grill.  “I love to barbecue, this will be fun,” he said. (Mind you, he hadn’t noticed that it was starting to snow and the thermometer registered 20 degrees here in the Wells woods.) (But that’s not my problem.) “I also got frozen French fries — maybe you can cook them and make the salad?” 

So yes, we are still working through details of The Compromise. 

Rome wasn’t built in 24 hours and the creation of the world took seven days. Time is on my side. And until the virus goes away and we can sip drinks and order dinner at the Village Tavern, we have lots of time. He’ll come around. I have my ways.