Cooking not an issue for working wife

Editor's note: This column originally appeared June 20, 2000.

The Other Half killed my will to cook.

Not that it was strong anyway. My will to cook had been on life support for a few years, expressed through the same five recipes week after week, year after year.

It wasn't always that way. When The Other Half began dating me, I tried to dazzle him with my culinary talents. I believed that whole way-to-a-man's-heart thing.

I chopped. I pureed. I sliced, diced and julienned.

And date after date, I watched Mr. Half carefully heap sliced, diced and julienned ingredients on the side of his plate.

He hates onions, mushrooms, tomatoes and bell peppers.

He likes chicken salad, but only with chicken, mayo, eggs and relish. No chopped onion or celery.

On pizza, he only likes pineapple. Pineapple, for God's sake. Who's even heard of that? Canadian bacon and pineapple, maybe, but he doesn't like Canadian bacon.

I came to realize that the more bland my food was, the better he liked it. A few weeks ago, I actually served him a microwaved chicken breast, instant white rice and a salad with nothing but lettuce and dressing. He loved it. Went on and on about how good it was. Didn't pile a single thing on the side of his plate.

Come to think of it, maybe that's the night he finally pulled the plug on my will to cook. We've been eating out ever since.

Part of the problem is that we never see each other awake except for two days a week. He works nights, I work days, and our usual daily conversation goes as follows:

ME: Sweetie? Sweetie? Are you awake? I'm headed for work.

HIM: Mmmmppphhh.

ME: I love you. Goodbye.

HIM: Ummpphhh.

So cooking isn't an issue. What's the point of cooking a big meal for myself? I usually microwave a "lite" frozen dinner and supplement it with chips, cheese and crackers, bagels or whatever else I can get my hands on because WHO REALLY THINKS THAT'S ENOUGH FOOD? But on the nights we're together, we go out.

I used to feel guilty about eating out. It just seemed like such a luxury when I was perfectly capable of making something at home.

It didn't help when Mr. Half and I ran into one of his relatives at a Cape Girardeau restaurant. She jokingly asked him whether I cooked.

I tried using telepathy to send him the right answer: "Of course! She cooks three tasty and nutritious meals each day! In fact, I had to physically remove her from the kitchen and load her into the car to get her here this evening!" Unfortunately, Mr. Half didn't receive the message and replied: "Sometimes." But recently, I've begun encountering more and more working women who consider eating out to be a part of daily life. Takeout can be cheap, easy and loved by husbands and children, so why bother cooking? These ladies realize that the way to a man's heart is no longer through his stomach. It's through wearing skimpy lingerie and pretending to enjoy professional sports, which is much easier than cooking.

I want to regain my love of home-cooked cuisine. It has to be cheaper and more nutritious than what I grab through the window of my car on so many nights.

I'm even watching Emeril on television these days. He looks so happy. The food looks so good.

And nobody is piling things on the edges of their plates.

Heidi Hall is a former Southeast Missourian managing editor who now lives in St. Peterburg, Fla.