Adventures in Cooking

10 years ago, as a little freshman at BYU, I went on a double date with my future husband, his favorite mission companion, and the mission companion's date. Michael and I had been dating for a few months and were pretty comfortable with each other. But I was nervous about this date. Because I would be the youngest there, by far. And all the rest of the company were returned missionaries who spoke fluent French. And had similar life experiences to share. And just more life experience, period.

Michael and I drove up to Salt Lake to meet them at a restaurant. And since I was 18, and it was still 1999, I wore glitter eye shadow. Of course. You know, the jelly kind that you could get from places like Charlotte Russe or Forever 21. We made our way to the table where Michael's mission companion sat with his date.

Butterflies, oh the butterflies. I instantly felt like this was a competition, even though we weren't even going after the same guy. After sizing her up, I realized that there was no way I was ever going to measure up. She was gorgeous (which she will vehemently deny) and charming and natural. And I began to panic, wondering what in the world we were going to talk about.

Suddenly, she came to my rescue.

"I love your eyeshadow!"

We spent the rest dinner talking about glitter and cheerleading and food and hair and everything else girls in college care about. I almost forgot the boys were even there. I felt an instant connection. I knew I had found a bosom friend.*

*"A bosom friend--an intimate friend, you know--a really kindred spirit to whom I can confide my inmost soul." - Anne of Green Gables

After dinner, the boys took us to Blockbuster to pick out a romantic movie which they hoped would seduce us. I'm assuming. But while the boys put their brilliant minds together pouring over titles "You've Got Mail" and "Runaway Bride," we girls found ourselves tucked in a corner of the store, sharing intimate details of our lives and confiding in one another like we'd known each other for years.

I went home elated.

A year later, they were married and pregnant with their first child. And Michael and I were still dating. At the time, she and I wanted totally different things out of life. It was strange that we were even friends at all, much less as close as we were. And yet, somehow, even in my anti-being-a-mother, anti-homemaking, anti-traditional-woman-roles phase, I still wanted to be just like her - the goddess of domestic life.

I knew if I ever became a mother, she was the kind of mother I wanted to be. I watched her with her first daughter, then her second, then her son. I took mental notes. I was in awe. I'm sure she had no idea I was doing any of this. But while I was surrounded by women who seemingly hated the role of mother, here was my one example of joy - joy in being a wife, joy in being a mother, joy in being a homemaker.

And ever since Shaelyn has been around, I have done everything I can to be just like her.

Well, except for the cooking.

Because if you read her blog (The Daily Grapefruit), you know she's a gourmet. And if you read my blog, you know that I am not. To quote from another friend, "I don't even aspire to it." But I appreciate her zest for it - it's just like her zest for everything else. And I don't mind being on the receiving end of anything she cooks.

She finally convinced me to read "My Life in France" this year. And watch "Julie and Julia." I can't say that either awakened me to a desire to cook. But they did increase my appreciation for food and for her. Plus they got me to use more butter and cream - a revelation that has had an adverse effect on my figure.

So this last week when my in-laws were in town, I found myself cooking every night. Yes, I made dinner for my family every night prior to their visit, but making dinner and cooking dinner are two different things. I found myself with two willing babysitters and two grandparent-attention-starved little girls. So I was free to spend hours in the kitchen (one of the aspects I hate about cooking). I tried some new recipes. I sautéed. I baked. I even made caramel - from scratch - which falls under the category of things I never attempt. I did not once make my famous Wal-Mart mac n cheese with chili.

At one point, my MIL made the observation, "You really like to cook, don't you?"

To which I surprisingly, and adamantly, responded, "NO!"

But I found by the end of their stay that I was enjoying cooking. I was enjoying the product of my labors. I was enjoying creating new and tasty dishes. And I was definitely enjoying the compliments being sent my way.

I also was enjoying the clean-up crew I found in my in-laws. My FIL would wash the dishes every night. My MIL would empty the dishwasher every morning. The stove top was always wiped down. The pots and pans were always cleaned and ready to be used again the next night. The table was always cleared and ready for the next masterpiece.

And I found myself thinking, "Maybe I do enjoy this. Maybe I'll start cooking like this from now on."

Tonight was the first night without my in-law babysitting/cleaning crew since their 10-day visit. I came downstairs to start cooking at the "earlier time" I had established since my in-laws were here. And the fighting, whining, and screaming ensued. An hour later, I was still trying to boil a pot of water. And had decided that we were having spaghetti. Again. It's one step up for me from the chili/mac n cheese option.

As I browned the meat with a baby on my hip and preschooler tugging at my leg, I remembered why I don't cook. Why I don't even aspire to it. And while Grapefruit may be fine to cook through similar circumstances (yes, her children do whine and scream and tug and pitch fits), I just don't care enough about it to plow through.

And you know what? My spaghetti tasted great. Thank goodness for that unsophisticated palate I possess.

But don't get me wrong - it's still sophisticated enough to enjoy those gourmet tacos I expect every time I pay Grapefruit a visit. That and peppermint hot chocolate. And warm pie. Even if it is 105 degrees outside in the middle of an Arizona summer. So she's not off the hook.

But I have learned something over the years of being inspired by Grapefruit. We don't have to all be the best at everything. Or even love the same things. And it doesn't make it any less of a person than anybody else. I'm grateful that I have friends who love cooking. It gives me someone to call when I do attempt a new recipe, or decide to try to peel a garlic clove, or make whipped cream from scratch, and have no idea what I'm doing. (All three being reasons she's gotten phone calls from me.) And maybe, just maybe, I inspire her to something, too.

So here's to doing what you love. And trying new things. And being content with what works. And finding inspiration in each other. And here's to my bosom friend.