UCM's Finishing School for Men: Lesson One

Last night, I taught a man to cook something.

Considering the preponderance of men in professional kitchens, this is nothing special. It's just that this particular man has for several months been vowing his ignorance in the ways of cooking and paying inappropriate homage to the notion of eating cereal for every meal and gulping down green beans straight from a can without heating them.

I've been there, right? My own culinary skills are just now blooming themselves after two decades of pasta and sauce from a jar as my staple (when I finally became tired of the cereal).

I saw his persistant disavowing of knowledge and skill as a cry for help.

So for that -- and a few other reasons -- I invited him to dinner. Whereupon I sprung my trap.

Shortly after his arrival, I believe he asked what was on the menu. Or perhaps he said, "What are you cooking?" Or maybe he just stood there quietly, hoping to be welcomed with a glass of wine, and I pounced on him instead. Hard to say.

But I recall telling him, You're cooking salmon.

And despite the alcohol that followed, I have clear recollection of the cringe of fear and horror that flashed on his face, the way his shoulders jerked back like he'd just seen a snake or heard a car wreck. Drama? The boy has talent.

"Well, I guess if you're prepared for me to ruin dinner...."

It's not possible. This is idiot-proof. (Not that this guy is an idiot; I don't have anything to do with boys like that.) You're going to poach it, and I'm going to tell you how to do it. Trust me, you can't screw it up.

To make a long story short, the salmon turned out beautifully. It was fragrant (all that dill and lemon that is XGF's trademark) and moist and delicious. I made a creamy citrus sauce (greek yogurt, lime zest, lime juice, orange zest, orange juice, olive oil, water and honey, if I recall correctly), roasted some potatoes and sauteed some baby bok choy for the side.

While we were eating this nice little dinner, the guy compliments *me* on the salmon.

*You* made it, I told him. Compliment yourself. You're on the verge of becoming a modern man.

"There are women out there who don't mind doing all the cooking," he replied.

Well, any woman from the latter part of the 20th or early 21st centuries is going to appreciate a guy who can cook, I said. There's nothing wrong with giving yourself a competitive advantage.

He laughed. Then asked, "But don't you think it would be pretty cool if you thought the guy you were with didn't know how to cook and let you do all the cooking and then one day, he whips out a really amazing meal for you?"

No. That would just make him a lazy liar.

"How long do you think it's fair to keep that talent hidden?"

No more than four months into the relationship, I replied. After that, I'm just gonna be disgusted that he left all the cooking up to me without saying something.

"But what if he went out and learned how to cook after the relationship started?"

In that case, (I motion as if pulling the arm on a slot machine) cha-ching! *That* would be very pleasing.

Then, the guy says, "Well, don't I get points for the fact that I'm a modern guy in other areas of my life? You know, my bathroom is clean. I have nice furniture. And stuff like that...."

Well, sure, he gets "points." Especially for his taste in furniture. And rather a whole lot more of them for the way, after the look of horror receded from his face, he took to poaching the salmon. The problem is, there's no system is in place to reward him.

Perhaps a sense of accomplishment is its own reward. And perhaps next time, he'll also make the sauce.