Don't Ask!

By Roberta Durra

There is no stopping these people. They are brutal and relentless. I dread the encounter. Yet, every day without fail…it happens. I eye the clock knowing full well that the later it gets, the sooner it will occur. I avoid making eye contact. I immerse myself in projects of which I have no interest. I call friends I haven’t spoken to in years, just hoping to avoid the inevitable. But avoidance is futile. No matter what I am doing or where I might be, somehow they manage to seek me out. Whether huddled in my studio, or miles away hiding out in a remote bookstore, come 5:30 p.m. they are magnetically drawn to me. Exhibiting not an ounce of shame, they track me down daily, blatantly accosting me with the abhorrent…“WHAT’S FOR DINNER?”

Geez!! What’s for dinner??? Honestly, I have NO idea. What do YOU think we’re having? Or better yet, what have YOU shopped for and prepared? Do I sound bitter? I’m really not. I’m just tired.

Truthfully, “What’s for dinner?” is a fine question. And if I had pots of aromatic curries and rice simmering away at 5:30 p.m., I would answer with a “Mother Knows Best” smile, a flip of my hair and a quick curtsy. But most often, at the time when I should be making dinner, I haven’t yet shopped for food, or even figured out what we’re having. The problem is that I find the whole dinner routine annoying. I don’t care how much someone likes to cook, and I am a someone who does, but seriously… EVERYDAY? Come on, people. It’s a pain. I try to be creative with it. I make fancy meals to please my eaters; I’ve gone the other way with simple dishes and silly monikers; “Taco Tuesday”, “Meatloaf Monday”, “Weiner schnitzel Wednesday”. None of this helps. The routine is a killer, and I’m no fan of routine. As a matter of fact, I make up different ways to brush my teeth each morning.

And then there’s a daily scene that adds insult to my culinary injury. I can be making filet mignon with béarnaise sauce; lobster tails with garlic butter, double baked mashed potatoes and grilled corn-on-the-cob. Inevitably, the teenager I live with walks through the kitchen, takes a quick peek and says, “Is this what we’re having?” It’s a loaded question and one that no matter how he says it, I hear…”Is THIS what we’re having?” How does a person answer this question without being arrested for teen-slaughter? He swears he has no “attitude”. He’s just asking. Ok then, Mr. Teen, this begs a question in return, and I will ask it with the same “non attitude” that you employ… “For what other use than OUR DINNER do you suppose I am making this food?”

I don’t mean to harp on “Is this what we’re having”, yet it bothers me enough that I have broken it down to better understand the question. I realize now that individually the words do not offend. I have no problem with “is”. “This” and “what” are both fine. “We’re having” I can live with. But put them together and have them come from the mouth of a lad who sings the praises of Taco Bell’s, Gordita Nacho Cheese Supreme, and it’s like having a convention of teenagers simultaneously scratch their nails down a chalkboard.

People in Spain have the dinner dilemma all figured out. They eat their main meal at lunchtime and later in the evening slap down a loaf of bread with wine and cheese, add some olives and call it supper. And after lunch people take a siesta! I would love a nap after dinner at lunchtime.

I’m sure that if I could serve my family dinner at noon, all my problems would be solved. At midday, I’m always in a patient and loving mood. In fact I’m a 12-1:30 p.m. kind of person! I like to cook when I’m fresh and I know for a fact, that if at noon a certain someone would ask me (without any attitude, of course), “Is this what we’re having?” I would laugh and say, “Si Senior! Usted debe ser un hombre muy sabio para hacer una pregunta tan sabia. Elogio a su madre”  (“Yes Sir! You must be a very wise man to ask such a wise question. I commend your mama”).