Page 50 of Dear Debbie

Dear Debbie,

Oh, I don’t know what to do, Debbie! My husband doesn’t like my cooking, and it just about breaks my heart. He jokes that I should win an award for the worst cook in the whole country, and while I try to laugh it off, I can’t help but feel like I’ve let him down.

I have tried everything to make myself into the wonderful chef my husband deserves. I’ve followed new recipes, watched online tutorials to improve my skills, and most of all, I put a large dollop of love into every meal. The funny thing is, my kids and I think they taste just fine, but my husband has a much more refined and sophisticated palate. I hate disappointing him every night.

Do you have any advice on how to become a better cook and bring a little more joy to the dinner table?

Sincerely,

Hopeless in the Kitchen

Dear Hopeless in the Kitchen,

Cooking a delicious and nutritious meal is important in any family. Have you tried taking a cooking class? Getting instructions from a real person can be extremely helpful! Also, encourage your husband to cook something for the family so he can show you the sorts of dishes he enjoys (and understand how difficult it can be).

If none of that works, I would encourage you to try some new and interesting way to flavor his food. For instance, ethylene glycol, also known as antifreeze, has a lovely, sweet taste. If you put a healthy dollop into his food, it will enhance the flavor, and I promise you, he will have no complaints once he finishes!

Debbie

41

COOPER

When I get home from the gym, Debbie is cooking dinner in the kitchen.

She doesn’t need to do that every night. I could bring home food, or I could try to cook. My cooking isn’t anything to get excited about, but I’m a smart enough guy. I can figure out how to put together a meal. Especially now that I’m not going to have a job.

“Is dinner almost ready?” I ask her.

Debbie looks up from the saucepan and smiles at me. But there’s something off about her smile. I can’t quite put my finger on it.

“Almost,” she confirms.

“Can I help?”

She pauses for a beat, then nods. “Can you set the table? And fill up the water glasses.”

I take four glasses from the cabinet over the sink and set them down on the counter. I grab the jug of spring water in the refrigerator, but there’s only enough in it to fill two glasses.

“Do we have any more?” I ask her.

“Just fill it up from the tap,” Debbie says.

I raise my eyebrows. “I thought Lexi won’t drink water from the tap. She says it tastes metallic to her. Isn’t that why we have this?”

Debbie laughs. “Cooper, I’ve been refilling that jug from the tap for the last two years. Lexi doesn’t know the difference.”

I had no idea she was doing this. I agree that Lexi’s teenage obsession with not drinking our perfectly fine tap water was weird, and it’s sort of funny that she can’t tell the difference, but I don’t know how I feel about the fact that Debbie has been lying to our daughter for two years. And even worse, I had no idea about any of it. Aren’t we partners in this whole parenting thing?

I finish setting the table, and then I do one better and let the girls know to come down to eat. Izzy bounds down the stairs almost immediately, but Lexi is slower on the descent. She’s also uncharacteristically silent. Lexi has been so moody ever since she turned fourteen. Is that typical for girls? Thank God Izzy isn’t moody like that—I don’t think I could deal with two kids telling me that I need to find a new barber because my haircut makes me look like a dork.

“The police were at school all day today,” Izzy babbles as Debbie brings out a large plate of food. We always get served family style, especially since lately you never can predict how much the girls want to eat. They will consume anything between a full plate of food and five noodles. “They were even still there when I left the building!”

“The police?” I repeat.

Izzy stares at me in amazement. “You didn’t hear? Mom didn’t tell you?”

I look at Debbie questioningly, but she is busy scooping pasta and white sauce on her plate. It seems like an issue involving the police would be something that Debbie would have thought to mention to me. Apparently not.