A: How do you like my fiancé cooking?
B: ... marry him
A: th-that’s the plan
B: Marry him faster -- Anon Guest
There is one hurdle when introducing a potential lifemate to Abuela. How well does the intended cook? Not just one dish, several. Not just one meal. A variety of them. There would be no useless partners collected under Abuela's watch.
"My husband, much though I loved him, was useless," she said as she told the tale. "When I fell very sick, he never knew what to do. When I got sick, I had to pass him baby step instructions or watch the rent money go to all the restaurants all around us. I made it my mission to teach all the children who join my house to cook. And insist that all adults who come to join it already know."
The rest of the family, who had heard the story, joined the chorus. "There will be no useless spouses in this family." Which got a laugh. Ben had been briefed, and therefore chuckled along.
"It's a good thing I went to the farmer's market," he said, gesturing with one of the brace of shopping bags in one hand. "I take it I'm cooking for everyone? Am I allowed assistants for the chopping?"
Abuela said, "I will see how you chop, first. Then I decide."
"I'm just passing things," I said. "That's allowed. And orientation of course."
Ben tucked up his sleeves and donned an apron. Because this was Abuela's kitchen, it was a frill-edged model with, Unsupervised grandchildren shall be spoiled rotten written across it. "Appetisers," said Ben. "Let's sort those mussels and start on the juice."
I passed him the bucket. Abuela permitted me to fill the boiling pot and add the salt. "Even the little ones can do that part. I want to see the mussels."
Ben flexed with a grin before he got into the bucket, plucking the bad ones out of the good with rapid efficiency. He earned a nod from Abuela as if to say, So far, so good. Which was high praise from Abuela.
"I hope you don't mind that I bought along my own sourdough for the bread."
"You do sourdough?" said Abuela.
"Like I'd want to marry anyone who didn't do sourdough," I scoffed. "He calls his starter Philippe and apologises when he can't get organic stoneground flour for it."
Ben got an entire three course meal for fifteen ready with few in the way of concerns. Abuela, watching from her pillowed and antimassacar'd throne, raised an eyebrow. I could tell she was impressed.
He passed the technique. Now it was down to the tasting. Abuela attempted to keep a straight face and made it about ninety percent through the main course when she pulled my ear to her mouth. "You marry him," she said.
"That's the plan, Abuela."
"Marry him faster than that."
Abuela is wise in all things. Anyone who cooks like that should have a trail of people after them once word got out. Abuela let my arm go and Ben shot me a nervous look. I decided to relieve the tension. My man was already a bundle of nerves.
"Abuela thinks we should visit the registrar's office soon," I said. "Want to go tomorrow?"
The cheering drowned out his words, but I knew that smile. That was a Yes, please! smile.
[Image (c) Can Stock Photo / jomzor]
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