It was a Friday morning, and I found myself with a rare day off. My partner, Lisa, was heading to her job at our children’s school, taking our eldest two kids along. I was tasked with staying home with our toddler. As we chatted about our plans for the day, Lisa casually mentioned that our middle child, Mia, had gymnastics practice right after school.
“You’ll need to handle dinner,” she said.
I let out a deep sigh, a reaction I often have when Lisa suggests I take on the cooking duties. It’s not that I can’t cook; I’ve done it before. The issue lies in how complicated I find the whole process. I often start a meal only to feel overwhelmed, which leads to my cooking being subpar. It’s not disastrous, but it’s clear that culinary skills are not my strong suit.
Before meeting Lisa, my diet consisted mainly of frozen burritos, cereal, and soda. I was the quintessential single guy who rarely changed clothes or cleaned my living space. Reflecting on my past self, I recognize that Lisa has transformed me into a better individual. Yet, when it comes to cooking, I question if she still has more work to do.
“How about we just order pizza?” I suggested, a strategy I often resorted to.
In the kitchen, Lisa was scrolling through a recipe on her tablet, dressed in black slacks and a blue cardigan. With a look that could ignite a fire, she turned to me. It was the expression a working mother wears when she’s running late and has no patience for dilly-dallying.
“Seriously. You can make dinner,” she stated firmly. No yelling was necessary; her tone conveyed everything. I felt like a child resisting responsibilities.
“It’s easy. Just follow the recipe,” she added.
“What if I mess it up?” I asked, half-joking.
She chuckled as if revealing a great secret. “I mess things up all the time. You’ve got a master’s degree! You can definitely make turkey and rice soup.”
I remembered a quote from Louis C.K. about fatherhood: “Fathers have skills they never use at home.” It’s true. I manage complex tasks at work and have even written for reputable publications. So why, then, did making dinner feel so intimidating? I feared mixing up tablespoon and teaspoon measurements or misreading instructions, leading to a culinary catastrophe that would send me back to ordering pizza. Ironically, I couldn’t recall an actual instance of this happening.
The truth was, I could cook. I just needed to overcome my insecurity. Perhaps it stemmed from outdated notions about gender roles—ideas that suggested cooking was a woman’s responsibility. I’ve often discussed the importance of equality in relationships, yet I found myself trapped in these outdated beliefs. Thankfully, Lisa doesn’t hesitate to call me out.
After taking a deep breath, I admitted—something many men struggle to say but should say more often, “You’re right. I can make dinner.”
Her glance communicated, “I know you can.”
She showed me the recipe, instructed me to use the slow cooker, and left for work. Determined to prove myself, I started preparing the meal much earlier than necessary. To keep our toddler occupied, I handed her some popsicles and an iPad—an imperfect but effective distraction. I even turned to online videos for tips on mincing garlic and chopping onions without shedding tears. The internet is a great resource; I never feel ashamed to seek answers, even for simple questions like, “What is a garlic clove?”
As the meal simmered, I recalled Lisa’s words, “Dude. You can make dinner.” What she really meant was, “Things are evolving. You need to step up.” After nearly 13 years together, Lisa and I have navigated various roles. I’ve been a stay-at-home dad, a student, and a provider, and she’s taken on those roles too. Yet I still clung to the idea that I could avoid cooking by complaining. Now, with Lisa working and me home on Fridays, it was time for a change.
Transitions can be challenging in relationships. When couples shift dynamics, they must adapt how they function. In 2017, for example, it’s entirely normal for a woman to bring home the bacon while a man cooks it. These role reversals can complicate things, but they are necessary for growth.
When Lisa returned after gymnastics, she found a set table. Our children immediately remarked that dinner tasted “funny.” I’ll admit it did—perhaps I overdid the oregano. However, it was warm and edible, and once we finished, Lisa and I tackled the dishes together.
“You’re making dinner again next Friday,” she announced.
“I know. I’ve got this,” I replied with newfound confidence.
In conclusion, embracing the role of cook may feel daunting for some, but it’s essential for fostering equality in relationships and personal growth.