I'll deliver the punch line first. No, I didn't cheat.
But, DAMN!!!!
It started Tuesday night. My daughter is doing homework and has been for the last two hours. She started shortly after dinner, which my wife made, which was a typical frozen bag of pasta, meat and vegetables in a oily, buttery sauce. With three kids, three sports and a high school play to drive to, those meals are sometimes the best available.
So, my daughter, says she is hungry. I was unpacking and hooking up the new TV I got for Channukah/Christmas from a loving wife that knows how much I will enjoy it while being off from work during post op. What kind of father would I be if I allow her to interrupt her homework efforts to prepare something to eat while I'm wrestling with TV cords?
Check the freezer, hmmn, a burger? That would be easy, put it in a pan, continue assembling the 9,000 lb stand where the TV will sit, flip the burger - you get the idea. Perfect, right?
I'm a bit of a hoobbyist chef. I hate cooking the ready to prepare meals, like the one prepped this very night, but I love the labor of food prep. When preparing meats, I'm a medium rare guy. But in my house of 5, I'm the only one. Everyone else , their burgers must resemble the color and consisteny of a hockey puck. When I believe the burger is done, I have to verify there is no pink, so I make a little cut, lift the burger with the spatula and pry the sliver further open with my fingers to verify. It's perfect. I place the patty on the bun and, out of habit, I lift my hand to my mouth to rid my finger tips of the oily burger residue.
Mind you, through the whole cooking process, I smelled the burger as it slowly accepted the salt and pepper I added to it. I listened as it sizzled. And I was a rock of will power, not even tempted.
So here I am with my thumb and forefinger a hair from my mouth. Frozen with fear. I yell some vulgarities and wash my hands with soap and water - twice - just to be sure.
Insult to injury, I food shopped last night!
Thank you to all the commenters, you guys are great.
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I love this story!
ReplyDeleteFirst of all, I love hearing from men about something other than football scores. Hearing about you making dinner for daughter just brings joy to my heart. My dad (by technicality, my step father but really my daddy because even though I'm a 34 year old grown woman, he is still the MAN who raised me from the time I was 3 years old on and I think has honestly forgotten that I don't hold half of his DNA) would have packed me in the car and headed over to the closest fast food joint. We were all very lucky that my mom was a health nut, even if more than half of what she made we needed to choke down. Seriously, you ever been in a family situation where all the members have hidden packets of salt in their pockets to slip into the food when mom's not looking? Anyhoo... *APPLAUSE* for being a great man.
ReplyDeleteOh, and when I was on Atkins I used to do horrible things to myself - like volunteer to be the cupcake bringer to my daughter's class. Hell, I grew up with a grandmother who worked in a bakery, so all of us grandkids (including the boys) learned how to whip out baked goods like some people scratch out answers to Soduku puzzles. But we all also were fond of licking the spoons and/or beaters. I went through so much hand soap back then, sticking my fingers in the dough "by accident" and then washing my hands - over and over and over again. ARGH!