How I feel about cooking.

Last weekend, I roasted a chicken. It was good. And it was special. You see, I never roast chickens. Then Lu and I made soup. Her favorite thing ever is the matzo ball soup at our local diner. If you order the cup, you get a giant matzo ball with a little bit of broth. If you order the bowl, you get the same giant matzo ball with more broth. We order the cup because we're smart like that. The broth is not the star.


I told Lu recently that we could probably make our own matzo ball soup. Then she asked me about it every day for many days until I set a definite date for matzo ball soup making. We decided to give it a try last Sunday. It was chilly outside and Jon was leaving again for the UK. I know it's been hard on her with him gone and I thought this would be a fine distraction. It would also be a respectful nod to my suspected Jewish heritage. Our family is positive for the BRCA2 (breast cancer gene) and it's most prevalent among European Jews. If we had to inherit something from a mystery line of ancestors, why not a cave full of gold or an empire somewhere tropical?!

We made the balls extra big and then they expanded like crazy while cooking. It never occurred to me that this would/could happen. Monday morning, I had to cut one in fourths to fit in Lu's lunch thermos. It might have been eighths. I hacked the heck out of it.


A weekend of cooking filled the house with wonderful smells and made me feel all homey and warm. But I am confessing right here, right now, that I am not comfortable in the kitchen. The roasted chicken was a pain in the ass to pry off the bone and those mega matzo balls were too mega. Here, Lu puts on a brave face, but is actually quite scared.

They say the 40's are about accepting who you are. And who you aren't. I'm not a good cook. Recipes bore me and going off the grid is too intimidating. The whole grocery store outing that an impressive meal requires is the worst of all. And the precise timing of every step to make it all come together in a grand triumph of tastiness is not a talent I possess.


I attempted to enjoy cooking in my 20's. I was a rookie, so my fumbling seemed precious. I feigned interest in my 30's. "Look at me chopping fresh herbs and hosting book club!" Less than a year into my 40's, and the gig is up. I'm calling it. I saw lightening, everyone out of the pool! I'm taking my (mega matzo) ball and going home.


Plenty of people love to cook. There are about ten million blogs about creating healthy and delicious meals for your family. I appreciate them. I sometimes read them. I never emulate them. I trust my basic line-up of decent dinners to get us through the week and then we wing it on the weekend. Turns out Edy can have pizza for six consecutive meals and continue a healthy growth pattern!


My mom was a reliable cook. Not at all interesting and pretty bland. But that was standard stuff for the time. Our family rarely ate out – just a fancy restaurant dinner to celebrate the tax return. (Fancy for our family of six still involved a salad bar and cut-your-own crusty bread.) My mom made a lot of meatloaf, chicken and rice dishes, pork chops and spaghetti. On the side, we almost always had iceberg lettuce with homemade Russian dressing.


I have her recipe cards and I love them! First, because she is obviously the source of my obsessively neat handwriting. Second, because so many of the recipes are retro gems. Lots of jello molds with cottage cheese, pimento loaf and seafood casseroles. YUM-MAY! And finally, because I totally picture her in "the kitchen of Joyce MacMurray" deciding what to feed her family or preparing to entertain with her harvest gold appliances.

So I'm not a good cook. But I am good at other things. Like picking clothes off the floor with my toes and putting together a spectacular 10 year old birthday celebration. Behold Lu's Amazing Race Party! 

If this week's blog is lacking, blame the fact that I came up with catchy rhymes to direct four teams of four girls to five different countries before racing home to a basement full of balloons. The party is tomorrow so wish me – I mean, the girls – luck. Hopefully this sort of thing will fill my daughters with fond memories, since filling them with creative meals is simply not happening.

For your question, I was going to ask "What is your favorite meal to cook?" But, if you're like me, you don't truly enjoy cooking anything. So instead, How do you feel about cooking?