Monday, August 14, 2006
 

Cooking With Wilbur


Last week my darling Trudy had the flu. First time since we've been hitched if I recall right.

So I set about in the kitchen, trying to cook some homemade soup for the poor gal. I was looking for this and that, pulling out drawers, and here one comes poppin' out onto the floor. I'm tellin ya I didn't do it. Thing just had a mind of its own. All the noise caused my girl concern. She yells out from the bedroom (more like croaks), "What's going on out there?"

"Everything's under control, Sweet Pea!" I hollered. (Hey S-man, what's Sweet Pea in Saurian? I ought to try that on Trudy some time.) I did what any good husband would. I scooped everything off the floor and threw it back in.

Making soup for my love dove couldn't be that hard, could it? I pulled out a big pot (picked it by going eeny, meeny, miny, mo) and put it on the stove. Started singing an old silly song from my childhood--"Oh, the big hog down the rooooad . . ." Anybody out there in blog land remember that one? Next I rummaged through the fridge looking for ingredients. Good soup has meat, vegetables and plenty of flavor, right? I found some ham and lettuce, and a little bit of ketchup. Threw 'em in with a bunch of water, but that soup looked mighty thin. So I set about for something to give it some thickness. I found some rice and oats in the pantry. Perfect! I tossed 'em in.

Then I remembered that cooking show on TV my Sweet Pea watches. Martha Somebody. So I flipped on the tube. Turned out the Martha gal was making soup that very day. She had a big pot on the stove just like I did. I did my best to listen, but that gal talked so fast, I only got every other sentence. I did hear about butter and flour for thickening, but I missed how much. "Oh, help me," I said to myself, "I didn't use either of those things." The Martha gal kept talkin' while I sliced off a half stick of butter, grabbed a measuring cup (not sure what size), dragged it through the flour, and dumped the white stuff in. By this time my soup was boiling away.

This gal Martha shows her soup--how nice and smooth it is. She's stirring it round and round. My soup wasn't smooth, let me tell you. In fact it was lumpy as a [Bailey--I'm deleting his explanation, but I think you get the picture]. The flour gobbed up in little balls and rolled all around, and the oats and ham looked pasty. I stuck in a spoon for a taste, got a whiff of the smell and thought better of it.

The phone rang. It was Pastor Hank, wanting to know how Trudy was. We talked a few minutes about when we were goin' fishing, and then I started hearing this awful sizzle-hiss coming from the stove. I turned around, and that pot was overflowing like nobody's business. All over the stove and onto the floor. I hollered into the phone, "Gotto go" and dropped it quick. I smacked off the burner, but the stuff just kept on boiling. It was kind of a sickly green-brown.

I let loose with a few choice words and shoved the pot off the burner. Must have shoved too hard or something, 'cause the whole cotton-pickin' mess went over the edge onto the floor. Caused the biggest clatter you ever heard.

Next thing I know, Trudy's in the kitchen, all red-nosed and white-faced, seeing what all the commotion's about. She took one look at the mess and turned green. I just stood there feeling like a complete idiot. "I was trying to make you some--"

Trudy held up one of her lovely little hands. I'm telling you, after livin' with the gal for so many years, that hand is all it takes to shut me up. Without a word she shuffled to the cupboard and pulled out a big can of soup. Had meat and vegetables in it. She pushed the thing at me and said, "Think you can heat this up without burning down my kitchen?"

I felt red behind the ears. "It wasn't my fault. That gal on TV's the worst cook I ever saw in my life. Look what she made me do!"

"Wilbur, just heat the soup. And can you clean up the floor, please?"

Well, far from me to say no to my love dove when she's so sick. She stumbled on back to bed while I heated the soup. I put it in the biggest pot I could find in that entire kitchen so it wouldn't boil over. And I watched it like a hawk. The minute it started to steam, I took it off the stove. Fixed it all in a bowl right nice and took it on a tray into my Sweet Pea.

The mess on the floor took awhile to clean up. The dog helped. I think he licked up enough to fill his belly for a couple days.

I think I should write to that TV station and tell them to take that Martha gal off there. She's probably causing messes in a million kitchens across the country. Who in tarnation hired that girl?

P.S. Trudy's all better now. I think the sight of me cookin' in her kitchen had a lot to do with it.

Posted by ~ Brandilyn Collins @ 7:00 AM
Comments:
Your heart's in the right place, Wilbur. I agree about Martha. Next time Trudy's sick (hopefully not for a long, long time), let me know. I'll email you some super-easy recipes that'll get the pink back in her cheeks!
Posted by Blogger batgirl : 5:20 AM
 
Mr. Hucks, I think it's sweet that you tried to take care of your wife when she was sick. I hope I find a husband someday who's as sweet to me.
Posted by Anonymous Anonymous : 9:53 AM
 
I'm with you, man. Can't cook worth beans. In fact, can't cook beans. Hats off to you for trying.

Next time--order a pizza maybe?
Posted by Anonymous Anonymous : 9:54 AM
 
Certain men are made for the kitchen, and others simply aren't. Wilbur, you're clearly in the latter category, although, like a commenter before me, I congratulate you for trying. I'm sure Trudy appreciated your efforts on her behalf.
Posted by Anonymous Anonymous : 9:55 AM
 
Wilbur, everybody knows that men make the best cooks. Don’t feel bad, my dog cleans up after me too.
Posted by Blogger David Meigs : 9:48 PM
 
Awwww, how sweet!

And I had my dog clean up after me a couple of times. I kept flipping things out of the skillet. :)

My husband can cook, he could probably give you some pointers if you wanna have another go at it.

I'm sure Trudy appreciated the kind thoughts behind the mess.
Posted by Blogger Pammer : 9:51 PM
 
What a woman, Wilbur. Me? I would have lost it and started cleaning the mess, then would have made my hubby feel bad for making me clean while I was sick. LOL! Sounds like Trudy's pretty lucky too.
Posted by Blogger Dineen A. Miller : 12:38 AM
 
Remind me to politely turn you down if you ever invite me to dinner, Wilbur. :-)

I must admit, it was mighty nice of you to go to all that trouble for your love.
Posted by Anonymous Anonymous : 1:27 AM
 
To Wilbur Hucks,
In my younger days, I had a boyfriend who was a really good cook. I tried to experiment with my own cooking, but he wasn't very appreciative. If you have ever tried frying an avocado,(and I suggest you don't), it turns into rubber and tastes like it too. Ah ... back to the drawing board.

I fair much better these days. Good luck on the cooking Wilbur. Having a husband who actually does know how to cook is a treasure, but so is a husband who loves his wife too much.

Julie M.
Posted by Anonymous Anonymous : 1:54 PM
 
Wilbur Hucks, I should of known you'd be up to something while I was on the "All Gals Camping" trip.

I'd better find the house the same as it was when I left.

And, yes, my Wilbur did try out the cooking arena for me, bless his heart!

However I was not aware he had our dog Eby clean the floor. We are goin to have a talkin to, tonight.

The Perseids meteor shower was lovely by the way. Camping at Wishpoosh in Cle Elum Washington was wonderful... Wilbur your coming with us next year.
Posted by Anonymous Anonymous : 5:43 PM
 
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