Yan (And Dad) Can Cook!

For anyone that has been married and then... well, wasn’t… there are things need to be learned or, in some cases, re-learned. For some, it might be doing the laundry or changing a tire. 

For me, it’s cooking.

Look, I’ve cooked before and there was no doubt that I would cook again. As an absolutely spoiled brat, I had to learn lots of things when I left home for college, from folding my own laundry to actually waking up in the morning without my grandmother banging on my bedroom door.

Cooking wasn’t one of those things that I had to learn in college though. My dorm room menu consisted of Ramen noodles, Ellio’s frozen pizza, and Natty Light. When I ventured into apartment life, first with roommates and later by myself, I picked up some things. My buddy Drew taught me how to make an incredible bean, rice and cheese concoction, and it was Trevor that taught me how to cook bacon. Of course, like any real man, I sought out nine different ways to cook steak and ground beef. But once you settle into a marriage, at least one where the spouse does all the cooking, most of that knowledge goes out the window.

Now that I am on my own again, I’m hell bent on learning how to cook. I mean, I don’t just want to cook, I want to cook MEALS... meals that are planned…. meals that are unique… meals that are done good and done right.

It’s fucking hard.

Look, I could live on hot dogs, frozen pizzas, and those fucking AWESOME Perdue pre-cooked frozen chicken thingees but…

a) I have kids… and…

b) I really don’t want to begin my journey on the divorcee road with 25 more pounds on my already-fat ass.

Yes… yes… “a” is more important than “b,” but they do go hand in hand. I want to be a positive influence on my kids and, since I’m doing a pretty shitty job with my New Year’s resolution, I kinda wanna be healthy in other arenas.

Don’t get me wrong, Daddy’s not making the healthiest meals, per say. I’m still all about the man food. But it is certainly better than eating at McDonald’s every time I am with my kids.

I’ve cooked for myself since I moved into my new place. Not as much as I should, but I’m getting there. However, I have made it a point that when my boys come to visit me, that I cook them a decent meal. I think I’m getting the hang of it, with a little help, of course.

One of my first nights here, I invited a friend over for dinner and I was very excited to cook a meal on my own. It was a sausage and pepper dish (man food alert) that I found on some website targeting cook-dumb men. I even prepared an awesome spinach salad as a starter. 

Well, it would have been awesome if I had not fucked it up.

Jesus Six, exactly how DOES one fuck up a salad?

I accidently cooked it, but the sausage and pepper dish was a success. I made enough so that when the boys came to visit the next day we could have it for lunch. They loved it.

But I fucked up the salad because I wasn’t paying attention to the recipe. Something about men and directions…

I wasn’t supposed to cook the salad.

I cooked the salad.

Seriously.

So, after a few meals of hot dogs, eggs (and yes, I had to be schooled on my eggs more than once), and waffles, I decided to try my hand at spaghetti with meatballs and sausage.

My meatballs rocked so much that I came home one night and annihilated them in a drunken stupor. All I remember stuffing my face whispering, “Oh, meatball… oh, sausage… I love you… please fuck me…”

The spaghetti? Not so much.

After the spaghetti incident, I tried my hand at some cheeseburgers and that went pretty well, but men are wired to instinctively know how to cook a cheeseburger, no? I am the King of Excess though (rolling eyes) so my burgers are infused with onions and garlic, eggs, milk, breadcrumbs… kinda like a meatloaf burger.

The kids liked them, but they weren’t impressed. I know the roommate liked them because when I went to make some burgers the following week (just for us) he was kinda all like, “Um… hey… um… you gonna hook those up like you did with the last ones?”

“Um… well… I wasn’t gonna… but… … … oh… … okay…”

For tonight’s meal, I was hell bent on making chicken parmesan with pasta. Yes, with pasta.

As the boys played, I carefully prepared the meal to the specifications of a recipe I had found online. I almost skipped the recipe. How hard can it be? You cook the chicken in pan and put some cheese and sauce on it.

Thank god someone got wind of that foolishness.

“Um… You’re gonna bake it, right Six?”

“Bake it?”

“Uh… Yeah. How else are you gonna melt the cheese?”

So, I got a quick lesson in chicken parmesan, looked up a recipe and voila -- the perfect chicken parmesan!

How do I know it was perfect?

I can’t base it on the fact that the roommate and I had four cutlets each, because we will pretty much eat anything. It did taste pretty fucking awesome though.

Nope… it was my boys. They didn’t tell me they liked it… they didn’t have to.

Lu-dog?

He ate every last bite of his entire cutlet.

D-man?

D-man doesn’t really eat much. Seriously. So, I gave him a half cutlet knowing he would never finish. But before I could even bite into mine, he was banging his fork on the table.

“Mowa chick in… mowa chick in…”

Dad CAN cook.

They didn’t touch their pasta though.

Fuck.

Resolve

I hate New Year's resolutions because I always make them, yet I never follow through. I had one this year, but I only followed through for about five hours, while I was sleeping.

My New Year's Resolution was to quit smoking.

I talked about it a whole lot. In fact, I told everyone that mentioned my habit. Trust me, people mention it... especially complete strangers.

"Those things are no good for you, you really should quit."

"You're killing yourself young man."

"Hey Six, when ya gonna quit smoking?"

I should quit smoking to prevent myself from going postal on someone's nosy ass.

The idea to quit smoking came after my eldest son, Lu-dog, started pressuring me. It began with questions about cigarettes.

"Daddy, why do people smoke?"

"Daddy, do cigarettes taste good?"

"Daddy, do cigarettes make people feel good?"

Of course, every answer I gave painted the picture of an ugly habit that will kill or incapacitate me by the time the kid reaches college.

Then the questions changed.

"Daddy, why don't you quit smoking?"

"Daddy, why do you have to smoke a cigarette right now?"

"Daddy, do you wanna get sick?"

Fuck.

One of those complete strangers that I mention above told me that he quit smoking because he made a promise to his son.

"You can't break a promise to your kid!"

I decided THAT would be my reason. I would quit smoking for my kid.

After I made my promise to Lu-dog he had just one question, almost daily.

"Daddy, when are you gonna quit smoking?"

"January 1st Lu-dog."

They say you have to want to quit. I like to say that I want to quit, but I don't. I know that I should though.

Anyway, I did come to the realization that smoking is stupid, after having a conversation with an old man and his talking dog. I really have no proof that the dog actually talks, but the old man says he does. In fact, he actually told the old man that I should quit smoking.

Seriously.

Even if the guy is delusional, his epiphany story is really quite cool.

"See, I was up there at the Garden City Hotel on New Years Eve with my third wife... or was it my fourth wife? Same difference. We're at the Garden City Hotel there at this fancy thing, see? And we went outside to have a smoke and it was cold. It was so cold that I thought my dick was gonna freeze off. So I turn to my wife and I says, 'Jesus fucking Christ what the FUCK is wrong with us? Its fucking balls cold outside and we are the only two idiots in this whole fucking joint dumb enough to come out here and smoke. I fucking QUIT!' I never picked up another cigarette after that."

The same delusional old man commiserated with me on how hard it is to quit smoking.

"Jesus kid I smoked when I was playing poker, when I was having a coffee, having a beer, talking on the phone, eating... Hell, I smoked when I was taking a shit."

Yes. Quitting is hard. Smoking is stupid. I should quit smoking.

I just don't WANT to quit.

You can only quit if you want to, they say.

So, I have changed my New Year's resolution.

I resolve to TRY and quit smoking.

And I HAVE been trying.

In fact, I implemented a little plan on January 2nd and I am happy to say that, so far, it is working. I'm not going to spill the details for I fear that I may jinx myself.

I'm trying though.

It is the best I can do.

Ch... Ch... Ch... Ch... Changes

It has been a while.

There is a lot of dirty laundry on my floor, but I don’t feel like airing it out just yet. Truth be told, I wouldn’t even know where to begin.

So, I guess the best thing to do is to explain exactly where I am right now, at this very moment.

I am in a small room that is part home office, part playroom for my boys, and was, for the better part of a month, my bedroom. I have a bedroom now... I always have, but it was missing the most important element – the bed.

I finally got one yesterday and that makes me very happy.

There’s a guy that lives here with me. He has two rooms as well. He is in a similar situation and I’ve known him pretty much my entire life. We get along. That makes me very happy as well, though I never thought I would refer to anyone as my "roommate" ever again.

Life’s changes open the door to the unexpected, I have learned. Some are good and some are bad. I’ve learned that too.

Truth be told, my house makes me happy. It is beautiful and big and my children seem to be acclimating to it quite well. That makes me happiest.

I don’t see my boys as often as I used too, but I have learned to appreciate them more. My heart breaks when Lu-dog “loses it” for no reason and I know it’s because of what has happened between me and his mother. My heart breaks when I see D-man in passing and he begs me, using his limited vocabulary, to stick around.

Yet, I get pretty excited when he runs to me, holds me tight, and repeats the refrain, “daddy’s house... daddy's house.” I get just as excited when Lu-dog tells me that he loves me (he says it more now than ever before) and says that he really likes spending time with me, while showering me with kisses all over my face.

There is good.

There is bad.

I guess that’s why they say it is an adjustment for everyone involved.

Thankfully, I’ve found so many ways to negate the bad with the good and I expect that this Christmas may actually be the merriest that any of us has had in a long time.

It will be.

I’m sure of it.