MY WIFE'S BURNING DESIRE TO COOK

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I was thinking the other day,  that our house is quite strangely laid out, from a nasal point of view.   Sorry. That probably won't make any sense until I explain, and luckily I have a bit of time on my hands and some free space that need's filling. 

Mostly in my stomach.
  
Perhaps let me start at the very beginning (with thanks to Julie Andrews for her impeccable advice in this regard).

I mentioned, probably quite a few years back, that Mrs Ed is not a very good cook…..  Well, things have changed since then.  Indeed her non-cooking talent has gone from strength to strength.  Now she is a TERRIBLE cook.

In her defense, I should have realized there was a problem all those years ago when we first got married. I looked deep into her good eye, clasping her hands in mine across the packing-case-used-as-a-diningroom-table and uttered those three magical words ….
“What's for dinner?”
Of course she lovingly replied with three special words of her own
“You tell me.”

It's gone down hill from there.

She tries to cook, but the strange thing is that because of how the rooms are situated in our home, we can only smell the carnage she is currently smouldering in the oven when we go upstairs to my kids' bedroom.  Needless to say, neither of my children like to hang out there when Mrs Ed is involved in any sort of culinary prowess - the smoke inhalation is just too uncomfortable for them.
Seriously.  You know it's bad when your teenage children sign a petition… along with 27 of their friends… and the neighbours from four houses either side.

Really.  Our poor children grew up thinking that all clothing SHOULD smell of campfire.  Indeed at age 6 my son had a very embarrassing time when he first stayed over at a friend's house.  It started when he put on his pyjamas and the boy's parents screamed and threw a bucket of water on him..  Worse yet, he came home absolutely famished the following day, having simply refused to eat the scrambled eggs they gave him for breakfast.
“Dad it was a funny yellow colour,” he explained later “Not black like it's supposed to be.”

I have a theory.  There is a saying “Those who can, do.  Those who can't, teach.” and I think this is what happened with Mrs Ed.  You see, my own mother, Mrs Ed Senior (God rest her soul), was never a good cook.  Oh she could boil.  She was very good at boiling. Boiling food is, many will say, a prerequisite for being British.  It was what the empire was built on. We ate everything boiled. 

So ‘memorable’ isn't a word that springs to mind when thinking of home-cooked (home-boiled?) meals. 

Actually there was one time when Mom served up a delicious vegetable soup.  So delicious my father remarked excitedly that it was the best he had ever tasted.
“How would one make such a delectable dish as this?” he waxed lyrically (no, he wasn't cleaning his ears).  My mother proceeded to describe how one would prepare the vegetables, dicing then spicing them before quickly sautéing to seal in the flavour. Thereafter, she continued, one would roast them for twenty minutes with a sprinkling of coriander and a dribbled dash of lemon juice, whilst preparing a vegetable stock with a subtle hint of garlic on top of the stove. This would then be all added together, stirred in the wok with pre-browned onions, then very gently blended.  The final addition of a thick dollop of  sour cream would bring out the best of flavour. 
A few minutes after this vivid description had been dished out, I happened to wander into the kitchen... where I found an empty tin of Heinz Vegetable Soup.  The instructions read 'Boil; for five minutes then serve.'  I think my mother's ability to baffle made up for any lack of culinary expertise!

So for my first few years I grew up ignorant of any alternative to boiled food. But once we had left the muddy island and relocated to African soil, I had the pleasure of tasting tidbits of other cultures' cuisine, and I realized there must, in fact, be alternative ways to prepare vegetables, eggs, mince, steak, puddings etc etc.

So when Mrs Ed and I started becoming serious (her father handed over the first envelope of money) I did not rush into any sort of proposal until I had embarked on some serious RBM (Research Before Marriage).  Can you imagine my excitement over the next few months as I sampled dish after dish of her mother's kitchen genius?

It was a dream come true!  I was about to embark on a life-long journey with, genetically speaking, a potential domestic goddess.
But remember what I said earlier?  “Those who can, do.  Those who can't, teach.” 
Mrs Ed's mother COULD.  Sadly it follows that Mrs Ed's Mother did not TEACH.  Mrs Ed, therefore, did not LEARN. 

Anything. 

About cooking.  

Not a sausage. 

Or even a well-meaning turnip.

I can't really blame her,  if I had grown up surrounded by such wonderful food I certainly wouldn't have offered to try my hand in the kitchen, it would spoil everything!

So Mrs Ed has an empty section in her brain - right around the 'Preparation of edible meals' lobe.  Actually, it's not entirely empty.
She did, after a few extensive lessons from my own mother, learn how to boil… after a fashion.  But this, I discovered later, was only to support her real passion:- Gardening.  I believe her theory is that if something is in a pot on the stove with enough water around it, it can be left to its own devices whilst she gets on with her digging, planting, pruning, trimming, replanting, fertilizing and watering. 

She's right to a degree, but even the biggest pot filled with a handful of vegetables floating on top of 20 litres of water will eventually burn dry. 
“Did no-one even notice dinner was burning?” Mrs Ed will harrumph soon after coming in from a 'quick bit of gardening' (normally about 11pm).  I rush up stairs to resuscitate any unfortunate children who may have succumbed to Cajun-Brussel-Sprout-Vapour poisoning, whilst she follows her usual 'dinner rescue recipe' :
 
1) Put the pot on outside kitchen window sill (next to other damaged pots) until it stops glowing red. 
2) Fill another pot with water. 
3) Put another handful of veggies or other unfortunate foodstuff inside. 
4) Bring to boil for three hours or until burnt (whichever comes last). 
5) Repeat process until husband gets off couch and opens can of beans.
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