Read this article in the New York Times about couples in the kitchen? It´s terrifying. Apparently, all couples can be divided into alpha and beta cooks, and the power struggle is so bitter, that whoever survives a home renovation will succumb to the fight over who makes the risotto.
I´m obviously an alpha cook, also a control freak and wouldn´t know patience if it bit me in the leg. If that article´s true, I´m heading for divorce, downhill and no brakes.
Unless, well, wait a second. That´s if there´s a disgruntled beta cook peeling potatoes, right? But J is no beta cook. He´s not even an omega cook. The most he does in the kitchen during cooking time is ask where the bottle opener is.
We seem to have worked out a system where I cook, and he either eats the grated cheese, takes the lids off my steaming rice and finishes all the bread; or just stays out of my hair altogether and watches the Simpsons.
When we´ve finished, he does the washing up, and I either hover around telling him to make sure the water´s hot and the glasses washed also on the outside, or stay out of his way and sip mint tea.
Once he leaves the kitchen, glowing with virtue, I go back in and take down whatever´s stacked perilously, mop up the floor, and wipe down the cutting board, which he always forgets.
It´s a system. It seems to work. I think, in time, J may graduate to jobs like spinning salad or grating carrots, but what for? I kind of like being alone in the kitchen. I´m free to lose myself in a reverie while slicing mushrooms, or to sing and dance to the whole Grease soundtrack without embarrassement. It´s not like I cook complicated stuff that needs assembly lines, and anyway, I have a Thermomix to take care of things that need to be stirred constantly or chopped minutely.
So there it is, I´m an unrepentant alpha bitch, and not likely to change, either. But as long as the food´s good, who´s complaining?