Essay About Wishing and Measuring Does Not a Scratch Cook Make

This is The First Time

that I have ventured “off the beaten path,” and stradling myself as I climb farther and farther “out on a limb.” This isn’t new for me. It’s that I just many times feel so ashamed of me for not being a talented as my sweet wife, Pam. (Her real name.)

We’ve been married 43 years, mostly-happy years, with the only problems being with . . .guess who? Do you really want me to answer you? I didn’t think so.

And from the first year to the 43rd year, I have sat in our kitchen and was awe struck with this pretty woman who does not talk about doing something, she just picks up and does it. I am not exaggerating one bit.

Then Came The Fateful Friday Night

when I felt my self-esteem rise to an unbelievable height and ask my wife, “Do you care if I cook our breakfast in the morning?” She looked pale. I could tell that she was in shock by my never-before-asked question of about my cooking. But persisted until she agreed and I compromised my stance when I asked her to stand near our kitchen counter and let me add the ingredients and actually feel better than a real man.

You gotta give Pam credit for not trying to talk me out of this venture–nor was she setting me up for a total Kitchen Disaster. She is way too classy to cut me off at the knees. In short, I respect her a lot.

Before I continue, I just want to say that I have dreamed of the moment to where I can be the “Master of My Kitchen,” on the precipice that if Pam, God forbid, were to be laid-up with a sickness or had to go out of town, if you are a man reading this, then you know how quickly our minds can travel.

The Meal That I Asked

to cook, all by myself, was arguably “The Simple-of-The-Simple-Meals”: Bacon, Scrambled Eggs, and Homemade Scratch Biscuits. Yummm. I was in control of the moment as I slowly walked into our kitchen to where Pam was standing patiently to make sure that I was following the right directions.

The tricky part was my Scratch Biscuits to which Pam told me about how much milk to add to the Self-Rising Flour and Add (this is critical) a Pinch of Salt before I mixed up the batter and (to use a Rural Term) “Roll-Out”the Dough as I wanted to Cut Eight Biscuits out because Angie, our daughter, was going to eat with us.

I knew how long for the Scratch Biscuits to stay in the oven. I even knew how to Fry our Bacon to a Sweet Crisp and here’s a secret from the 60s sitcom: “Gomer Pyle: U.S.M.C.,” I gently-sprinkled a bit of sugar over the sizzling bacon because in most cases, and Men You Know This, bacon does take on a slightly bitter taste. But not My Bacon. No way. No sir.

Seriously, Time is Like a Vandal

instead of sticking by me in my “Cooking Adventure,” instead of wrecking the very fabric of my first breakfast that I wanted to serve Pam and Angie, who was now sitting at the dining table and it was time for me to (Another Rural Term) “Take Up,” my Scratch Biscuits, Bacon, and Scramble the Eggs.

Everything was great! The sun was shining and the birds were singing. I couldn’t have asked God for a better Saturday morning—I put myself in the role of “June Cleaver,” as my breakfast was ready . . .and the reason, Men, I used “June,” instead of “Ward Cleaver,” is that “Ward” lived a charmed life and his wife handled the cooking.

I served Pam, Angie, and myself what I thought was going to bring a load of compliments for this First Cooking Attempt, but the truth of the matter is this: Angie, whom we raised to never lie and be honest, took ONE bite of the Scratch Biscuits, a HALF bite of Eggs and a Bit of Bacon and then suddenly went to clean her room—I told Pam what a wonderful daughter she was as she was mature enough to do her own cleaning. And I continued eating.

That was until I looked over at Pam and noticed the same thing as I had seen with Angie, but in Pam’s case, she stuck by me, but did not each anymore. And Men, if You have ever had your Feelings Crushed, then mine were stomped to our kitchen floor.

“What went wrong, Pam,” I asked hoping that she and Angie were pulling a practical joke on me.


“Well . . .the biscuits, well, were kinda flat, the Eggs a little hard . . .I said a little, and the Bacon, a bit too sweet, other than that, you did great,” my lovely wife explained.

“But I followed your directions. You saw me, Pam,” I argued and knew that I was beaten.

There was ONE bright spot in my attempt to cook and serve breakfast to my wife and daughter. When Pam was critiquing my Scratch Biscuits, she used the term, “kinda flat,” so with that I concluded that Moses would have been proud of my Special Unleavened Bread that is used for Holy Communion.

And so that was the first and last time that I tried to cook anything or any nature . . . so ended my “Saturday Morning Breakfast Cooking Attempt.”