A man that cooks...

A man that cooks is a wonderful thing. When Chris and I first married both of us cooked a little bit, but not much and not well. Meanwhile, we both liked to eat. I was delighted that my new husband wanted to cook for me. My own sweet father could cook in a pinch, for instance if my mother was deathly ill. His repertoire was omelette's or hot dogs, not much else. Unless you count peanut butter and fluffernutter sandwiches!

I well remember, in those early days, coming home from work, tired and gritty. If Chris had gotten home before me I would smell food cooking. Nothing lifts the spirits quite as much as the smell of supper started after a long day.

In those days Chris was a one-pot cook. I would lift the pot lid and peer in expectantly. There were many variations to one theme, something my sweetie called, "Chrissy surprise." He eschewed the idea of cookbooks or recipes. His idea of supper usually consisted of whatever leftover meat we had from the previous meal, a can of cream of something Campbell's soup, and rice. There was almost always rice. Sometimes he would toss in a vegetable, too. Often the concoction would be an odd color. Green was common. The texture would vary from slimy to lumpy. Oh, and there would be SPICES. Cayenne was a popular choice. My taste buds in those days were not used to anything more exotic than salt and pepper. Somehow the magic of young love and hunger made it all taste good.

Over the years our love has grown sweeter, and both of us have become better cooks. We read recipes now, and it has been many long years since I had to fill up on "Chrissy surprise."

I love to watch my husband in the kitchen, masterfully slicing, dicing, sauteing and seasoning. Better still I love to feast on his creations. A man that cooks? A wonderful thing.