Brian and I are happily married for
twenty-five years, as of tomorrow (the twenty-fourth). Marriage is an interesting beast. To some, it is like iron sharpening iron,
where both people grow closer and wiser as the years pass. To others, it is like slowly pouring sand
into your shoes, gradually wearing out the wearer. I know I am a happily married woman. Brian and I are truly best friends; I cannot
imagine a life apart. We have raised
three children: Amanda, who is married to Michael, Candace, and Ted. Twenty years ago I would have said that our
wonderful children were the natural product of the power of our love, but what
we call love has gone through so many changes, I see it all as more of a
combination of choices and actions. All
of my explanations seem both too simple and too ambiguous.
Maybe
today, I’ll look at my marriage in the same way I look at my cooking. Somewhere in the world there are the masters
who know everything there is to know about cooking: affinity between ingredients, emulsifications,
butchery, iron vs. steel vs. aluminum vs. copper, vs. et cetera, and subtleties of preparation that would bring a chemist
to tears. There is no such master in my
house. There is only me, what I bring
with me, and what I have learned along the way.
The bottom line in both my cooking and my marriage is that I approach
each day with limited budget, time, and resources, and choose what I feel in my
gut will result in a satisfying day. I
put it together according to how I feel about it, neither slaving to someone
else’s instructions, nor totally ignoring the advice of those who have experience. I don’t suppose that anything I do is really
unique, but for those who sit at my table, every day is special in its own way.
A Culinary Attitude Towards Marriage
Always speak to your spouse as you would like to be spoken
to. You can’t put bitter ingredients
into a pan and expect sweet results.
Allow each other to make mistakes. Tomorrow’s another day in any room of the
house.
Read together, enriching your mind and building common
interests in the wider world. There are
a lot of things other than lettuce, tomato, and cucumber you can put in a
salad.
Work within your actual budget, forsaking everything you
know is beyond you. Better a fine
roasted chicken than a tough and tasteless steak.
Give and receive tokens of respect, answering honestly
instead of strategically. If your
soufflés always fall and are too bitter, make pies instead.
Don’t go to bed angry.
Excessive heat accomplishes nothing constructive. It only ruins good ingredients.
Have fun, for crying out loud! Laugh!
No one is looking over your shoulder; this isn’t a reality show, and
you’re not writing a book.
Be considerate of each other’s differences. Better yet, celebrate them. No two cooks work the same, and you’d be
surprised how good something can taste with ingredients you never use. The key to this is boundaries: When you are cooking, you don’t want
interference with your creation. There
should be a little independence, so from time to time you come together and
present what you are up to.
Don’t lie. It works
against all the reasons you are together.
If the bird is undercooked, don’t say it’s supposed to be that way. It can make you very sick.
I’d like to say to Hell with what others say, but that
depends on their wisdom or experience, their relationship with you, and your
current level of need. I’ll just say,
you are married to only one person, and at the end of the day, you are
responsible for each other first, and most.
If you happen to like cayenne pepper, then use it. If you are happy in your little home with one
car, and you like your job, then don’t let anyone talk you into a different
career.
Read your Bible and
pray; the God who created over 10,000 kinds of herbs has time to give some
thought to your needs. Eat together,
worship together. Your pleasure is
magnified.
