Being Afeared Ain't Fun...Just Ask Me

I have big plans for next week...you know, post-Aunt Netta's backyard wedding of uncertain culinary ordeals (somewhat major catering issues with an arrogant customer service/naive caterer who is obviously clueless at the unrivaled power of social media to ruin his business post-wedding)...I have every intention of taking charge of those parts of my life that can most often frustrate me, or that leave me feeling essentially victimized, which is what food often does. Kitchens are essentially kryptonite to me. I don't know what I'm doing. I don't know where things are. I am adept at only the most laughable creations. I don't know what the $%#! cider vinegar is for, or what the damn difference is between a shallot and a regular old onion. I hate it in there.

Not after this week.

There's more to it than just a selfish urge to rid myself of nonsensical fears, I also want the effort to impact Zed. Right now our daughter is a pretty good eater. She eats well, but cautiously, completely unlike her good friend Elle, who devours an impressive amount of varied and different foods. Zo likes rice, no...loves rice. She eats eggs, and french toast, and loves plain noodles. She likes peanut butter toast, and usually has no issues with meat. She's cool with broccoli and cauliflower, cooked carrots, and a vast array of fruits. The problem is that she has yet to melt into our dinner plans. She almost always has some variance to what is on our plates, and that may very well be normal, but I'd like for her to tackle what we tackle...exactly what we tackle, and to step out on a limb and try a few more things. This coming week we're gonna make the kitchen a better place for both of us.

We're going to shop together. We're going to cook together. We're going to try new things together. We're going to kick the kitchen's proverbial ass. I'm not even editing that last part. That's how heinous my relationship has been with the kitchen until now.

Often, with June working and not getting home until late, I've been left to either feed Zo (no problem), prep some basic dinner supplies (no problem), cook something simple (again, no problem), or wait until Mummy gets home if we wanted to eat something really good, or achieve more than just meeting our basic nutritional needs at the dinner table. No more. I don't necessarily like eating at 7pm, and I loathe not feeling capable enough to whip up something more adventurous than spaghetti, burgers, breakfast for supper, or whatever grilling I can swing into the routine. I want to be good at filling our faces with good stuff, and I want Zo to like jamming good stuff down her face as well. So this week it's on. Beware kitchen. You're going to see a Brian that you've never seen before. I'm going to be patient. I'm going to be organized. I'm going to be savvy, or as savvy as I can manage with a two year old helping me with the cooking, and I'm going to beat this aversion to the oven.

I can guarantee you several things...

The food will, in large part, be simple.

Zoey will have had at the very least a role in selecting the groceries (with heavy influence, nay, Orwellian supervision).

June will be surprised, both pleasantly, and also in a manner that might challenge her well developed sense of decency.

There you have it. My unlikely conversion to domestic b!%#h is in full upward spiral.