Heather Poole

The other night I was in bed, under the covers, on the verge of falling asleep, when the husband rolled up behind me. He placed a hand gently on my arm. “There’s something really important I need to tell you,” he whispered in my ear.

Any normal wife, I think, would probably get a little nervous at this point. Not me. I rolled over and faced him. “What?” I asked, even though I kind of already knew what.

“Don’t get mad,” he said, making a face.

If it was what I thought it was, I wouldn’t get mad. I smiled. “What!”

“Please, please, please, promise me you’ll never cook again,” he said, and he said this very seriously.

Just as I’d thought. And I don’t blame the guy. I’m a horrible cook. Even on the airplane when all we have to do is stick it in the oven and heat it up, you want me in the aisle, not in the galley. Unless of course you like your biscuits burnt.

Okay, normally I’d probably think the no cooking idea was a really good idea, considering the fact I don’t even like my own cooking. (Except for soup, because I’m a fantastic soup maker, as well as a black eyed pea maker – for those of you who have yet to try the recipe posted below.) The only problem I have with my husbands most recent request (actually it sounded more like begging than requesting) is besides losing weight, getting pregnant, and signing a book deal (not in that particular order), my 2008 new year’s resolution is to learn how to cook. For real. Even though I truly believe cooking is an art and that you either you have it or you don’t, I’m determined to learn. And so the husband must continue to be tortured throughout the upcoming new year. Poor guy. Tonight I’m going to try something quite daring, a new recipe, Cuban picadillo. The picture in the cookbook looks fantastic. Keep your fingers crossed. For his sake.