I am the primary cook in our house. This means I cook for myself, Eric, the 2 kneebiters, Eric's dad (who lives with us) and - while he stays with us during the week - Eric's brother, Scott.
Let me preface the rest by saying simply: I don't like to cook. And I'm not very good at it either.
So, in the past year I went from cooking for 2 adults, a kid and a baby to 4 adults and 2 kids. And I didn't get to go to some kind of cooking boot-camp to help me figure it out. My menu consists mainly of spaghetti, hamburgers, chicken and veggies, and pretty much anything that comes in an 'add milk' box. I have tried my best to branch out, to cook different things, to provide a non-repetitive series of meals to the birds in my overflowing nest.
But, no matter what I try, Eric's dad doesn't like it.
And. It. Makes. Me. Want. To. Pull. My. Hair. Out. By. The. Roots. Which would be fine if more of my hair was gray.
Tonight I made lasagna:
From the box, check.
Tastes good, check.
Traditionally Italian, check.
Did Eric's dad want to partake? No, of course not. He would rather have egg noodles with butter on it.
He won't even try things. Just looks at them and goes "no I don't think so". He's like a giant toddler with white hair and a limp. Only he is more blatant than any toddler in his disdain for the food I prepare.
There are some tried and true recipes he will eat. Like buttered egg noodles. Or buttered spaghetti noodles. Or spam. But only when HE wants it. Forget that I am trying to cook for 6 people now - something I really don't know how to do without making too little or too much. I refrain from preparing meals I know I like, like enchiladas, because he won't eat them. I mean really, after spending 45 minutes preparing a meal, who wants to go and prepare a second one for the picky guy in the back room? Perhaps a more generous woman than I.
He always says "If I don't like what you make, I won't eat."
But then he submits his special orders. "Oh, you're having chicken? Can I have mac and cheese?"
I have tried, honestly tried, to let it roll of my back. No one else thinks my cooking is atrocious. Even Josh eats most of what I make. But tonight when Eric's dad looked at the lovely, oozing, cheesy lasagna and said "I don't think so" I just wanted to scream.
So I blogged.