It occurred to me when one reader left a comment that she didn’t realize that both Mark and I post on this blog that some of you may think that I do some of the cooking at our house. Make no mistake about it, but I don’t do any of the cooking. I used to cook and even really liked it at one point, but I haven’t made anything substantial other than throw together a breakfast or lunch for the girls in years. Mark does all the food shopping and cooking in the family. This division of labor progressed naturally when we had our youngest. Mark would cook and I would clean the house and it just stuck because we were each better and more efficient at our respective chores and the timing in our schedules just worked out that way. I also think back when he switched working to mornings from late night dinner shifts I was a bit relieved that I didn’t have to cook dinner for myself after all those lonely nights alone. The switch also happened right around the time I got pregnant so I think he was more than happy to take care of all the meals since I had terrible morning sickness and couldn’t be around food. My psoriasis also flared up on my hands around this time (which I have to this day) so I was avoiding getting anything on them, including excessive hand washing and foods that might irritate my hands such as citrus, garlic, tomatoes, etc. Habits just stick I suppose. We do, however, come up with flavors together for the business because much to Mark’s chagrin sometimes, I’m extremely critical when it comes to food, especially food that we have to stand behind.
There was one evening when I was thumbing through a magazine that a recipe caught my eye. It’s rare that we earmark recipes in magazines or that I bring one to his attention – often times he cooks without one – but it was a Moroccan style chicken stew with olives and preserved lemon from last months’ issue of Domino magazine that got me excited, particularly because Mia loves chicken and she loves olives. Mark cooked it up one evening (alas, without the preserved lemons), but it was rejected by both girls. Sometimes you just can’t win.