I was out of town for five days. I left food, real food, like vegetables and fruit, all easily indentifiable. I left enough vegetables for a large stir-fry, which I made as an afternoon snack the day after my return, so the aging produce wouldn't go to waste. I married a man who knows how to cook, a man who shuns junk food, who once shamed me for my fast food drive-through habit. I had three wonderful sons with that man. Somewhere along the way, he chose pizza as a food group.
The night after I got back from Haiti, my father and his wife — who were also on the trip — invited us over for pizza and a little vacation photo viewing. My husband chewed his slice thoughtfully, musing, "Huh. We've eaten pizza for the last four out of six days." Really? How could that happen? I asked what they ate on the other two days, far from the ears of grandparents, aunts and uncles, who might have scolded me for not doing what my mom always did. She left prepared dishes, with instructions. But...I thought my husband was a modern man! With actual life skills! Like laundry! And the ability to find a vegetable in the fridge and cook it!
So, he did make one thing with kale and mushrooms, even if it was pasta, which is basically pizza. And El Burrito, one of our favorite spots in town, is pretty healthy. But they ate a lot of pizza. And we have to assume they ate the leftovers for breakfast, because I didn't notice any missing eggs. Also, the mini fridge was empty, save one sad little box of raisins.
The children survived — thrived, even — though I think some homework may have been left undone. At least the pizza came from a locally owned shop, a family favorite. And my dear husband was sufficiently contrite. I'm pretty sure he's consuming kale, cauliflower and radishes by the pound this week.
Are you the main cook in your home? What happens when you leave town? Is the trash can full of takeout containers or are there pots and pans in the drying rack?
(Images: Anne Postic)