Cool-guy needs help cooking
for his friend's birthday party. Um. Am I the one to help him?
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Column # 139 Enough
is Enough is Enough |
Cool-guy needs help cooking
for his friend's birthday party. Um. Am I the one to help him? |
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www.livingthelifeofholly.com
“How much mint should I pick?” Kay asked. “Get enough.” Cool-guy said, absentmindedly. Kay froze, waiting for direction. When none came she looked to me. I laughed. “Um. Honey. When you say enough, how much mint would that be?” He looked up. “Don’t get too much.” He returned his attention to the curry he was preparing. It was Kay’s husband’s birthday. Cool-guy was gifting his good buddy with a birthday dinner for him and his twenty closest friends. (Yeah. I know. Cooking dinner for twenty is a pretty big gift. I’d rather give him a lamp.) Cool-guy thought it would be a good time for me to meet some of his friends, and the perfect occasion to try out some new Indian food recipes. I held my hands in a little round ball. “This much mint?” He looked up. “Yes.” “Great.” Kay said, running out to the garden. “What do you want me to do?” “Cut the onions.” “Oh. No. I hate cutting onions. I’ll smell like onions for the rest of the night. The smell will be in my clothes. I’ll never get it off my hands. I’ll cry. My mascara will run. Isn’t there…” “Ok. Ok.” He laughed. “I’ll cut the onions. Pull the meat off the chicken.” “Thanks. Honey.” I smiled. “That’s my favorite job.” He laughed. “You like de-boning chicken? You scare me.” Kay washed the mint. “Now what do you want me to do?” “Take the leaves off the stems.” “Make sure you still have ENOUGH.” I said. She laughed. I finished the chicken. “Is there ENOUGH chicken?” She wanted to know. We giggled and sipped our wine. “What about me? What should I do next?” I asked. He sighed. “It’s hard to concentrate with all these questions. Ok. Cut the Okra.” “How big?” “We’re going to sauté it.” “Um. How long do the pieces have to be?” He took a deep breath. “About two inches.” “Great.” “What should I do?” Kay asked. “Make the chutney.” She froze, waiting for direction. “Get out the food processor. I’ll help you in a minute.” “How come you always help her?” I whined. He ignored me. I cut the okra slowly, dreading my next job. Cutting okra I could do. Why rush? Kay’s kids came into the kitchen demanding snacks. I jumped to the rescue. Snacking kids I could do. I made expert peanut butter and jelly sandwiches and served up tall glasses of apple juice. But. No matter how I stalled, the time came when I needed another job. “Make the beans.” “Make the beans?” I looked at Kay. She shook her head back and forth slowly. He ignored me. “Honey. What do you want me to make the beans in?” “A pot.” Great. Um. What beans? How do you make beans for an Indian meal? I picked a pot from Kay’s unbelievable collection. Had she robbed a kitchen store or what? I choose a bag of yellow beans. Yellow beans? “How do you make yellow beans?” “Put some oil in the pot and make the beans.” “Ok.” I said, happy to get some direction. “How much oil? Am I covering the bottom of the pot or more?” “OhmyGod.” He said, spinning around. “I thought you knew how to cook.” “Really? You thought that? Why ever would you think that?” “You were like Ms. Home Ec. Teacher. I thought you KNEW how to cook. I thought you would be able to help me tonight. We have twenty people coming to dinner and you can’t make beans.” I laughed. “Sorry that’s such a surprise. I’m a little better if I can follow a recipe.” “Oh. Great. You can follow a recipe?” “Sure can.” “Fine.” He flipped open an Indian cookbook. “Make this. And. No more questions. I need to get everything done.” I laughed. “You’re getting a bit tense, aren’t you? Ok. No problem. I’ll make this onion goop. And. I’ll even slice the onions.” “How do you want me to cut the lamb?” Kay asked. I gathered all the ingredients and put them in a pile. I got out the graduated measuring cups and put them within arm’s reach. Master-baker Holly was ready to perform. I read the first line. ‘Pour 11 grams of flour into a bowl.’ Grams? How on Earth was I going to measure grams of flour? I’d seen them weigh out ingredients on cooking shows but I’d never actually done it. I turned to Kay. “Does eleven grams of flour mean anything to you?” She shook her head back and forth slowly. We both turned to Cool-guy. Come on. Was he going to make me ask? “Make sure you double the recipe.” His back said. “Twenty two grams of flour.” I said to Kay. “Does that mean anything to you?” “Yes.” She said, slowly. “It’s eleven doubled.” I laughed. But. Come on. The cheater. He’d given me a European, metric cook book. No fair. I said I could follow a recipe. I didn’t say it could be in Swahili. She laughed. “Just be sure that you add ENOUGH flour.” I laughed with her and sipped my wine. Ok. Enough hinting. “Cool-guy. I don’t know how to measure twenty-two grams of flour without a scale.” His voice was tense. “Just lift the bag and pour twenty two grams of flour into the bowl.” I set down my wine glass and put my hands on my hips. “What? NOBODY can do that. You have to MEASURE it. You can’t just pour some arbitrary amount into a bowl and expect a recipe to work.” He stared at me searching for the right words. He couldn’t find them so he took several slow steps toward me, never taking his eyes off of me. He lifted the flour off the table and very, very slowly poured some into the bowl. He dropped the bag back on the table. His eyes never left mine. “There.” He said, icily. “That’s twenty two grams of flour.” I looked in the bowl. Yeah. Like I was going to call him a liar or notice that he was a bit short, right? “But. How do you know?” “I know.” Really? Could it be that easy? I reached up and kissed his cheek. “Thanks honey. You’re way better than a scale.” He looked from Kay to me. “Any more questions? Do you have any more questions?” “No.” Kay said, gulping wine. “Not yet.” I said. “But I’ll let you know.” “I need to work without so many interruptions.” I quickly scanned the recipe. “Actually. I have one. Where are the Indian spices that I’ll need to spice this?” That was the final straw. Cool-guy stood up very straight. “Kay. I think it’s time you took Holly on a tour of your lovely house. Maybe you could sit in the living room and drink tea. I need to be alone in the Kitchen for a while. I need some uninterrupted work time.” “You’re just kicking us out so you can say you made the dinner all alone, aren’t you?” I joked. He laughed. “There is no doubt in my mind that this was a team effort. But. Now I need to pull this all together. Alone.” “Have you had ENOUGH of us?” I asked. Kay and I laughed. “Never, honey. I love looking at your beautiful faces while I’m cooking.” He kissed me lightly. “Really. It makes being in the kitchen so much more enjoyable.” He kissed me again. “But I’ve had ENOUGH help for today.” He added, weakly. “A man can only take so much.” Wanna try another column? How about #142 Was it a Scam? which is about Cool-guy trying to find his 'homeless man' in San Fran. or Click here to go to Current Columns to pick another column. Or perhaps you would like to go to Column Finder by Subject to choose your next column about dating, or epilepsy or friends... you choose! Don't miss out! Sign up to receive a free copy of Holly's column via e-mail each week. (All e-mail addresses are private... NEVER, EVER shared.) Or send a blank e-mail to Holly@livingthelifeofholly.com Subject: Subscribe Me. Comment on this column in The Forum Or Send Holly your comments. Tell her what you really think! Your comments might be published on her website, or in her weekly Yahoo Group e-mail. Send Comments Wanna vote for your favorite column? Fan's favorite column picks will be added to the Fan's Favorite Five page. Send your pick for your favorite here. Fan's Favorite Column Pick Copyright © 2003 by Holly Winter
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