Enter the dragon

Now that Halloween is over, I can begin my second-favorite* fall activity: planning for Thanksgiving dinner. I usually begin this on November 1. So you can look forward to several more turkey-themed posts in the weeks to come. Yay for you, huh?

Anyway, I love to cook. Love it, love it, L-O-V-E it. I’m a totally obnoxious foodie, I admit it.

Dan, on the other hand, has a love-hate relationship with my cooking. He loves to eat it, obviously, but he hates being around when I cook. I think he watched too many commercials for Nestle Morsels growing up, because he seems to have this idea that “cooking” is a fun, relaxed activity that the whole family can join in. You know, mom and the kids gathered around, kids dumping the flour into the bowl (oops! spilled some!), kids licking the bowl behind mom’s back, and mom triumphantly pulling out a pan of perfectly-baked, symmetrical cookies, all while a soft-rock jingle exhorts you not to eat all the morsels or your cookies will be bald.

Whereas in my life, I spent $40 on fancy groceries and I’m doing three recipes at once and the dogs are under my feet and I just ran out of paper towels and the timer on the stove and the microwave goes off at the same time and I have exactly ten seconds to deglaze the pan before the garlic starts to burn. (I realize, by the way, that more organized cooks don’t contend with these issues. I’m just telling you how I roll.)

Anyway, not being familiar with this scenario, Dan used to ask if I needed any help while I was cooking, sometimes by giving me a supportive, “I-love-that-you-cook-but-you-don’t-have-to” hug or otherwise hovering over me. Or, he would saunter into the (very tiny) kitchen and start rooting around in the freezer for ice cubes for his vodka tonic, and would get involved with repairing the ice dispenser in the process. Sometimes he would casually start doing some of the dishes in the sink. (Why not? Saves doing them later!) I think we all agree that these are fine, upstanding activities for any husband. Except when I’m cooking, of course.

That would be when I would calmly and quietly point out to Dan that, no, I don’t need help, and that he had better get the f*ck out of my way this instant. Apparently, as I would say this, my eyes would begin to glow red, and the rest of the room would drop away to a landscape of agony, with spurting flames and rocky landscapes under a crimson sky. I’m led to believe my voice would be overlain with the moaning of a thousand anguished souls, and ragged, webbed wings would sprout from my back.

Now, when he senses that I am beginning to cook, he hunkers down behind the largest available furniture and quickly yells “I’m here if you need me!” before darting off to watch the Simpsons. But who can blame him, really.

So, expect thrilling posts detailing the many recipes I pore over, the recipes I ultimately choose, the recipes I have to then abandon because everyone only wants the same old thing, and my famous white-trash hors-d’ouvres over the next few weeks.

*My first-favorite activity is planning for Christmas dinner, which begins the day after Thanksgiving. Natch.