Dieting: the man's approach, the woman's

Tom doesn't cook very often.  He works later than I do and I like to handle this aspect of our domestic life.  However, once in a while he will insist on preparing a meal.  I was doubly surprised in the last few days in that he cooked breakfast (Saturday) and dinner (Sunday).  The only problem with Tom cooking (besides the obvious - nobody ever taught him how) is that he is a bit clueless about food content.

Also, it annoys him when I linger over his shoulder, peppering him with helpful suggestions and moving the pan so it is actually on the flame.  Really, I have to do this.

Saturday Tom wanted to make scrambled eggs before we went to the gym.  Depending on how you make them, scrambled eggs are a fairly healthy way to start the day, especially when you are planning on working out that morning.

"Stay out of the kitchen, woman, I am in charge of the pan."  Fine.  Jake and I waited upstairs for the Man of the House to call us to breakfast.  However, that didn't last long.  My son insisted that I go downstairs to check on Tom and make sure he was "doing it right, because mom, he doesn't cook very often."  True dat.

I snuck down the stairs and gazed at the assembled goodies my loving husband was getting ready to throw into the eggs.  Summer sausage, gruyere, and onions.  Uh oh.  I think he forgot about the diet.  I crept upstairs and warned Jake about our situation.  "Mommy, can you please just cook me my own eggs?" he pleaded.  It isn't that Jake's on a diet, he just doesn't like lots of food in his food, if you catch my meaning.

I had a real connundrum on my hands: hurt my husband's feelings by reminding him that sausage and cheese are not exactly On the Program, or just go ahead and eat the breakfast and make up for it later with an extra hour of cardio.  That choice won the day, though Jake did get his eggs over-easy.

Indugence in carbohydrates was not a problem at this meal, however.  Tom had placed some rolls leftover from the Rose Bowl (Rolls Bowl?) into the oven to warm.  While I took my second bite into the aforementioned bread item, I noticed a lovely green fuzz sprouting out from its bottom half.

"Ew!" I shrieked, and dropped it back on the plate.  "Don't eat that, boys, it's moldy!"  Jake and Tom both looked at me and shrugged, and continued ingesting the offending bread product.  I felt sick.

"I can't believe you are eating that.  Disgusting.  I'm making a piece of toast.  Who wants one?"

"Not me!" said Tom, "nothing wrong here!"  Jake looked at me and looked at Tom, not sure what to do.

"Um, I'll just stick with the roll," he said, not wanting to hurt Tom's cooking feelings any more than he may have already done via the egg incident.  He spread more butter and jam on the roll, as did my husband, as if additional condiments could rememdy the fact that the bread was DECOMPOSING RIGHT BEFORE OUR VERY EYES.  Ugh.

As I fetched my (very tiny) piece of toast out of the toaster, I saw Jake inspecting his roll very carefully.  "Um, mom, is this mold?"  Well, yes, yes it was.  He handed me the roll and asked for a piece of toast.  I obliged, and asked Tom again if he wouldn't prefer a  piece of toast.

"Nothing wrong with this bread!" he annouced happily, and put some more butter and jam on it.

"Suit yourself, MoldMan," I muttered, and tossed Jake his toast.  We sat down again.  Suddenly, Tom started examining his second jam and butter-slathered roll. Closely.  I got up and threw another piece of bread in the toaster. 

Last night, Tom made burgers.  Cheeseburgers are Tom's specialty, one of two dinners he can cook (the other being roast chicken, but the chicken must be cooked by someone else, such as Zupan's).  As he made the shopping list, I peered over his shoulder.  "Are you getting beef?" I asked, in my nicest, least-judgmental tone.

"Well duh, what else would I get?" he laughed.  "I'm making my famous cheesburgers, not my famous roast chicken!"  I sighed.

"Well, since we are on this new diet, I'll try the Boca burgers!" I announced cheerfully.  "Remember how good that phony sausage was on Christmas at Patrick and Crista's?  It's soy!  It's low calorie!  It's high protein!  You'll love it!"

""Maybe next time," he said, and folded up the list.  Behold, my dinner, and the dinner for Jake and Tom.  I think it's time to start putting wagers on this weight loss thing.