Saved by the Soup
Saved by the Soup
February 6, 2006
How come my upper back is sore whenever itís time for me to cook dinner? It seems that the activities of the day, from 6:30 AM to 4:49 PM, drains my energy and all I want to do is snuggle in bed and take a short nap. This is a routine feeling. In the afternoon, I see my kitchen as an enemy territory that wants to rob me of my rightful rest in the evening.
You might have heard the saying Saved by the bell. Itís an expression that means to be rescued from something at the moment you needed help. Iím going to share with you a new phrase that Iíve made up. Itís called Saved by the soup. I hope that you will be able to get the meaning of it as I share my story.
I donít like cooking. Itís not my interest. I usually drag my feet towards the kitchen at breakfast, lunch and dinner time to concoct a meal because itís my duty. You see Iím a mom and my husband and four children expect me to cook food for them. I drag my whole body to the kitchen and I pray that God would reveal a new recipe that my family would enjoy. I have all of these sauces, spices, meat, and veggies in front of me but I donít have the smartest idea on how to cook a decent meal. I have about five cook books and several photocopies of recipes I got from the internet but these tools didnít help me a bit to love this Ďchoreí. Iíd rather go to the nearest grocery store and buy food for them.
Romeo, my hubby, likes home-made food. He was brought up with a mom that lives in the kitchen, works in the kitchen during her younger years, and breathes authentic Ilocano cum Chinese cuisine. It is no wonder that when we made our vow to live Ďfor better or for worseí, Romeo has a big chunk of the worse part of the marriage. He tries to like my cooking. He is patient in eating my prepared meals.
Then it just happened. One day, he snapped. He just wanted me to cook, to prepare a meal for him and the kids, to prioritize this job, and to spend time in the kitchen. I snapped too. I declared Ďwarí. I told him he could cook his own food while I cook for the kids since they are the subjects that donít complain to my cooking.
My eldest child stepped in. He placed his hands on my and my hubbyís shoulder and began praying. ďLord I thank you that mom bought a chicken for us to eat. "May mom and dad not fight about food preparation.Ē That was really neat: a son praying for his parents to 'smart-up' and mature. Well, he didn't stop there. He continued to pray for us and even asked other prayer warriors to intercede for us.
Then it happened. My eldest son took Culinary Arts. I don't know what has gotten into his mind. Maybe he wanted to improve his skills in the kitchen at his workplace. Maybe he wanted to experience being in College. Whatever the answer, I thank God for his decision.
Months have passed since my Zean, my eldest son, took Culinary Arts. He learned how to make chicken and beef broth, gourmet soups, various breakfast items, and meat and vegetable dishes. Every time he arrives home, he shares the secrets of making this and that. Pretty soon, I was able to cook Ďreal foodí. My husband requested that at least I prepare a warm cup of soup for him. Iím not a kitchen person. I still dread the chore. But at least, my son has equipped me with tools that I could use when I have time to cook.
And what about my husband? He began to understand that his wife loves doing painting and installing laminate floors more than cooking. If I could cook, he praises me. If I couldn't, he eats at his favourite restaurants. I know he made a compromise. But I thank God that He put in my husband's heart to love me just as I am: a little bit of everything but not exactly a chef.
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