She hesitates. "There's something I have to tell you first."
“Aw, Honey, whatever you tell me, well, I’m sure it can’t be that bad. So, what is it?”
“I can’t cook,” she says.
“See, that’s not so bad,” he tells her, smiling somewhat indulgently. “And anyway, that’s a skill you can learn with time and practice, Sweetheart.”
She looks uncertain.
“So, is that it, then?” he asks.
She hesitates once again.
“What?”
It’s the cooking thing,” she says.
“I told you, my love, do not worry your pretty little head over it. Okay?” Noting her reaction, he adds, “And anyway, have you ever even tried to cook?”
She nods as her eyes well up with tears.
“Well, what could you have possibly made that was so terrible, my darling?”
“A dinner - once.”
“Once?”
“Yes. It was supposed to have been chicken paillard with artichokes and champagne grapes in a chardonnay reduction, finished with a demi-glace – to be served with garlicked haricot verts and potatoes Lyonnaise. For twelve guests.”
“Oh my goodness, my peachy plum! How can you say you cannot cook when you are describing an epicure’s fantasy? You can’t cook, you say? But how is that? You are a gourmet!”
“I didn’t say I am not able to create fancy dishes of food,” she says sadly, in response to his surprised words. “I said I cannot cook. There is a difference, you see: I am not allowed to cook, by law.”
“Why? How can that be, my Love Muffin?”
“Because I decided to do the entree as a flambé for effect as well as taste. One of my female guests made the unfortunate decision to come into the kitchen at the moment I lit the pan. She said it was because she could not resist the wonderful scents emanating from the kitchen and had to check it out for herself. As luck would have it, she was wearing an impossibly high and contrived hairdo. It was flambéed as well as the meal.
“But that wasn’t the worst of it. In addition to the lady guest, I also set fire to the damask kitchen curtains, the cherry wood cabinets, the original Georgia O’Keefe painting which was hanging on the wall nearest the stove – not to mention several other guests as they came rushing to the kitchen to assist in dousing the poor woman. As it turned out, in the end, I managed to set fire to most of my twelve dinner guests along with the lovely cottage I was leasing at the time from a wealthy friend.
“The financial damage was in the millions. The personal damage, was far beyond that.” Tears roll down her lovely cheeks.
For a moment, he is dumbfounded. At last, he says, “I still would love to marry you anyway, my Cherry Blossom. And do not worry about cooking. I can learn to cook or, of course, we can always eat out.”
“Then I joyously accept!” she says with a big happy smile, as she thinks, Yes! I will never have to cook a single meal for the rest of my life! Hmmm...now, I wonder what else he’ll believe...
"Will you marry me?" he asks.
ReplyDeleteShe hesitates. "There's something I have to tell you first."
“Aw, Honey, whatever you tell me, well, I’m sure it can’t be that bad. So, what is it?”
“I can’t cook,” she says.
“See, that’s not so bad,” he tells her, smiling somewhat indulgently. “And anyway, that’s a skill you can learn with time and practice, Sweetheart.”
She looks uncertain.
“So, is that it, then?” he asks.
She hesitates once again.
“What?”
It’s the cooking thing,” she says.
“I told you, my love, do not worry your pretty little head over it. Okay?” Noting her reaction, he adds, “And anyway, have you ever even tried to cook?”
She nods as her eyes well up with tears.
“Well, what could you have possibly made that was so terrible, my darling?”
“A dinner - once.”
“Once?”
“Yes. It was supposed to have been chicken paillard with artichokes and champagne grapes in a chardonnay reduction, finished with a demi-glace – to be served with garlicked haricot verts and potatoes Lyonnaise. For twelve guests.”
“Oh my goodness, my peachy plum! How can you say you cannot cook when you are describing an epicure’s fantasy? You can’t cook, you say? But how is that? You are a gourmet!”
“I didn’t say I am not able to create fancy dishes of food,” she says sadly, in response to his surprised words. “I said I cannot cook. There is a difference, you see: I am not allowed to cook, by law.”
“Why? How can that be, my Love Muffin?”
“Because I decided to do the entree as a flambé for effect as well as taste. One of my female guests made the unfortunate decision to come into the kitchen at the moment I lit the pan. She said it was because she could not resist the wonderful scents emanating from the kitchen and had to check it out for herself. As luck would have it, she was wearing an impossibly high and contrived hairdo. It was flambéed as well as the meal.
“But that wasn’t the worst of it. In addition to the lady guest, I also set fire to the damask kitchen curtains, the cherry wood cabinets, the original Georgia O’Keefe painting which was hanging on the wall nearest the stove – not to mention several other guests as they came rushing to the kitchen to assist in dousing the poor woman. As it turned out, in the end, I managed to set fire to most of my twelve dinner guests along with the lovely cottage I was leasing at the time from a wealthy friend.
“The financial damage was in the millions. The personal damage, was far beyond that.” Tears roll down her lovely cheeks.
For a moment, he is dumbfounded. At last, he says, “I still would love to marry you anyway, my Cherry Blossom. And do not worry about cooking. I can learn to cook or, of course, we can always eat out.”
“Then I joyously accept!” she says with a big happy smile, as she thinks, Yes! I will never have to cook a single meal for the rest of my life! Hmmm...now, I wonder what else he’ll believe...