Every now and then I get asked “Do you bake?” or “Do you cook?”
First off, these questions confuse me. What does “do you” mean? Meaning, is it something I do constantly, or meaning is it something I am capable of doing?
Because I can. But I don’t usually.
I know practice makes perfect, so technically if I did bake/cook often, I’d probably be better, but more often then not I get complimented on my efforts, and since they’re usually surprised compliments I know they’re sincere.
I could give all sorts of reasons why I don’t putter about in the kitchen more often, but the simplest is that I don’t need to: I’ve got a mother who does a more than adequate job without me sticking my wooden spoon into the pot.
So why mention this here? Because the question makes me nervous. Somehow I always feel like my answer is being filed away for shidduch query purposes.
“Bad4? She’s a a wonderful girl, really special, but not really big with the frequent fryer miles, if you know what I mean.”
I know I sound a little paranoid, but just earlier today I mentioned to a neighbor that since my mother was off spoiling the kinfaun this week, I was making Shabbos, and she answered, “Oh, it’ll be good practice!” So really, that’s what it all comes back to, if you’re single.
Correction: if you’re a single woman.
Anyway, as I mentioned, the mother was off visiting the kinfaun, leaving me to hold the fort. This had two positive side effects:
1 – I got lots of kitchen practice, so I can, for the moment, answer “Yes, I cook and bake.”
2 – I developed a sudden interest in dinner menus.
I would say that of the two, the second is the most life changing. I mean, you know those people it’s so difficult to speak to because they seem to be in a different world? Yeah, I’m referring to married people. Who else?
You know how you call them or IM them and they’re always in middle of making dinner? And you go “mhm” while they describe in gory detail the chicken they’re in middle of making, or this great way of making rice?
Well now I’m actually listening. Even taking notes. It’s a little weird – almost like being married, but without the $3,000 hairdo. Or the basement apartment. Or the ring. Or the husband. Or pretty much anything except the housekeeping, actually. But still.