I’ve been quiet here for the last few weeks because I’ve been working furiously on the final edits to my book (!) , Inside Out, which won the 2010 River Teeth Literary Nonfiction Award and will be published by University of Nebraska Press next spring. The book has nothing to do with food. It’s a personal, factual and literary investigation of the profound changes of first-time motherhood.
It’s been an extraordinarily busy, heady time around here, and I’ve still been cooking, just not writing about it. I’ve had to come up with even more, fast, efficient weeknight meals for the family and I’m looking forward to sharing them here over the next few posts.
But first, I need to give credit where credit is due–and that means to my husband.
Kory does not really cook around here. Yes, he bakes extraordinary cakes and cookies sometimes, and he manages the grill superbly in the summer, and he takes care of breakfast every weekday morning, and makes a mean quesadilla for weekend lunch, and the kids think he’s famous for the kidtinis, but on a regular basis, he doesn’t put dinner on the table.
This does not mean he can’t, not that he won’t if I ask him. Over the past month, I’ve barricaded myself in the office and he has taken care of the kids, cooked them lunch, fixed them dinner. He’s agreed to eating out several times, which is not exactly in our regular weekly budget, but he knew what a clean kitchen can do for a writer/mother’s peace of mind (also her spouse’s). He rustled up a lovely pesto dinner for them last week, including this good looking appetizer:
And he cleaned it all up, and he did not complain once.
The best dinner I’ve had in recent memory may be the perfect omelette he whipped up, per Julia Child‘s instructions for a late Sunday night dinner. The kids were in bed, and he left me alone to finish my work for the day, and when I was done, there it was, the perfect, billowy, tender omelette, much, much better than I’ve ever done. He made a gorgeous salad with the chicory I’d been avoiding for a couple of weeks, which was still fresh (thank you farmers market) and fresh shelled sweet peas, and a white balsamic vinaigrette. We had fresh bread and a glass of wine, and it was perfect.
So, while he has a proper acknowledgment in the book, he deserves one sooner than next spring: Thank you, Kory, for taking care of all of us, for feeding us, and for making the space for me to write when it mattered most.