The Chef and the Delivery Girl

BJ and I have a sweet deal when it comes to splitting up homekeeping.  He deals with all things “dogs,” and I am the Parker family chef.  I never have to worry about taking the dogs out to go to the bathroom or walking them.  I just cook to my heart’s content, and it’s wonderful.

When we first got married, I thought we’d split up everything.  This meant we would both cook meals together, deal with dogs together, and basically share in every little chore the house offered us.  Not so, friends.  Enter disillusionment.

We both like to be in control of things we’re good at.   He’s incredible with the giganto dogs, and I can follow a recipe like nobody’s business.  It’s funny how splitting things up like this added some peace to our hot-off-the-press marriage.  Maybe it’s not so funny, though; maybe it makes perfect sense.

Not sure what it was about high school that made me want to so fervently announce that my husband will do all the cooking when we get married because I don’t want to be stuck in the kitchen all day like a slave.  Oh, get over yourself, fourteen-year-old Courtney.  Cooking rocks my socks.

In fact, I consider myself a Giada in training.  (Very much in training.)

Sometimes, though, I’m a delivery girl, too.  Those are funny days.  With only one car insured, I get to drag the bike up to work to bring BJ dinner.  At least in this weather the food stays hot! (Groan.)

These crab cakes were awesome, by the way.  Super easy and a little fancy.  Yep, I’d say we eat pretty well over here.  But notice that I only take photographs of the meals that go well…

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