I’m No Gordon Ramsay But….

A rare event occurred this afternoon. I cooked Sunday dinner. Yes, you read that right, and what a triumph it turned out to be. A massive success. And by success I mean I didn’t set the house on fire and managed to create an edible dish. I watched anxiously as the Black clan took their first tentative mouthfuls and blew a sigh of relief as nobody spat it back out again or collapsed in a writhing heap on the floor.

The occasion? For there has to be an occasion. Stephen cooking Sunday dinner doesn’t just happen. I normally give culinary duties the widest of berths. I can boil an egg and haven’t burnt water yet, although there have been a few close shaves. Well, it’s Mother’s Day on this side of the Atlantic so I felt duty bound to don my apron. I didn’t wear an apron by the way. That line was just for dramatic effect.

I had been anxious all morning about what lay ahead, just as I’m anxious about anything I have to tackle looming up on the horizon. A dry run of bacon and sausage sandwiches passed without incident and a 5K run also helped to settle the nerves. Once I got into the swing of it though, reverting to Fionnuala for advice where required, I settled into the job and began to enjoy myself.

I peeled and stirred while Hannah helped by mashing the potatoes. It’s all a matter of timing really, ensuring that the vegetables come to a boil at exactly the second the stuffed pork chops are ready to take out of the oven. I watched the clock like a hawk while busying myself setting the table and pouring drinks. I felt like the conductor of an orchestra, bringing the piece to a rousing crescendo.

Cooking is hard work and takes me many miles out of my comfort zone. But it does me no harm to slave over a hot hob now and again. If nothing else, it makes me appreciate all the countless meals Fionnuala prepares for us the rest of the year round. It’s all too easy to take for granted those nearest to us who do the most for us. I’ve offered to cook Christmas dinner in the future, which was met with sceptical glances from the rest of the family.

A bridge too far perhaps….

Published by Fractured Faith Blog

We are Stephen and Fionnuala and this is our story. We live in Northern Ireland, have been married for 15 years and have three kids - Adam, Hannah and Rebecca. We hope that our story will inspire and encourage others. We have walked a rocky road yet here we are today, together and stronger than ever. We are far from perfect and our faith has been battered and bruised. But an untested faith is a pointless faith. Just as a fractured faith is better than none at all. We hope you enjoy the blog.

49 thoughts on “I’m No Gordon Ramsay But….

  1. Way to go Stephen. I’m glad the event was a success for all.

    An interesting thing I learned is that Mothers Day is a different date here on the West Coast of Canada. This year it is May 12th..always the weekend after my deceased mothers birthday (8th) – and the usual time of getting my hanging baskets from the local nursery.

    Thanks for sharing your life stories.

    Like

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