John cooks a potato

John's lack of interest in cooking has always been a joke between us, but recently, we've been starting to think it may not be so funny. Here, he ponders how to boil a russet potato. 

Like most couples, John and I each have our spheres of household duties. Established early on, these were based not so much on what we loved doing, but on what we knew how to do when we set up house together. Thus, I automatically took over the cooking and the general well-being of the house and garden, while John dealt with all things financial, mechanical, technical and computer-related. 

It’s worked well, lo these 50 years. Maybe a bit too well.

Now that we’re into our senior years, we’re facing the grim reality that the other may not be around forever to fulfil his or her established responsibilities. And that because of our rather definitive focus on our own spheres – and lack of interest in each other’s – one of us will eventually be in trouble.

Thus it was that one day recently, John took me downstairs to his computer and gave me my first sight of the complex spreadsheet he uses to detail household expenses. Along the top were categories like cable, gas, gardening, and electricity; down the side were dates of payments and payees – somewhere in the middle of the page the two met. Even worse were the banking sites he uses to manage our money and to keep track of the mysteries of GICs, RRSPs, and TFSAs. John assures me that anyone can learn anything if they try hard enough, but hmm – computers, finances, technology and Carol. What could possibly go wrong?

John, on the other hand, may make out better. After proudly proclaiming for years that he can cook scrambled eggs for breakfast – but nothing else – he has announced he has serious plans to learn to cook, just in case. And so, when I recently came down with a three-day migraine, I heard a polite question at the bedroom door: “How long does it take to cook a potato?”

The results were fine, he reported later. The boiled russet potato was a little overcooked and the broccoli thrown in at the end a little undercooked. But with plenty of margarine and the frozen meatloaf I had stashed away in case of emergency, it was a meal. The next day, he bought yellow potatoes, which were better for boiling, and the following day he found small yellow potatoes, which cooked faster and better. Three days in, and he was already figuring it out.

On my side, I have not returned to the household expense spreadsheet or moved any closer toward renewing my own GICs. Boiling a potato and negotiating a banking website are two very different things. I’m hoping John lives for a very long time.

While John works on his computer downstairs, I'm often in the kitchen cooking. Our problem is that we aren't really terribly interested in the spheres that the other does so well. Thursday night, I was making meatballs with tomato sauce and a new batch of stock, below. 

The stock simmers away, but John wasn't hanging around to learn the intricacies of boiling a big pot of chicken bones and vegetables. 

I'm sure he sees scenes like this as mysterious, messy and a whole bunch of trouble. Kind of how I react to his household-expense spreadsheet.

Some of this big batch of meatballs and sauce will end up in the freezer. John will be very appreciative the next time I have a migraine.