Don't Expect Husband to Plan Meals

By CHARLES M. GUTHRIE
of the editorial page staff
published by the StarTribune
January 26, 1957


   COOKING represents one of the finer art forms. It's easy to see why so much newsprint is devoted to recipes and ways to jazz up hominy grits and macaroni so they will get eaten.
   Cooking is a challenge to ingenuity and experimentation and to achievement of balanced diet. It is one of a woman's most accessible avenues to distinction. No wonder so many of them enjoy it.

   AND YET, if you asked a representative cross-section of adult females what the most irksome housekeeping detail was, the answer of the majority would concern food. They would agree with my wife, I'm sure, that meal planning was the chief bug.
   I know from experience gained in two-and -three-day stretches that even a modicum of meal planning goes far. When you realize that many women do it day after day, year after endless year, it's ghastly to contemplate.

   BREAKFAST and lunch are somewhat standardized and present no great problem. But even here some variety is mandatory. No family could endure for long being steadily stoked with stewed prunes and oatmeal. Fruits, juices, bacon, eggs and pancakes must get on the menu occasionally. And while kids have a remarkable tolerance for peanut-butter and jelly sandwiches, this luncheon standby can be overworked.
   But dinner is the big barrier. It is, or should be, a gastronomic event. And since it has become general practice to purchase a week's supply of groceries at once, the housewife must plan ahead for seven dinners. She must, that is, unless she can dragoon father into taking the brood out occasionally or they can sponge off grandma.

   FATHER and the kids sometimes give an assist but normally they are ciphers at meal planning. All Junior can suggest is cereal and his interest is more in the compass ring, the tattoo kit or the picture punch-outs than in the edible contents of the box. Father, when asked what he'd like to eat, says, "Oh, anything." Or he comes up with beef stew and dumplings or meatloaf, which was the main dish last night.
   The cook cannot call for a vote on what to eat after the family is gathered at the close of the day. It is too late then for anyone to propose liver and onions or hog hocks, cabbage and cornbread. To get such things on the table requires planning. (More to the point, as far as I'm concerned, is how to keep such stuff off the table.)

   AS MUST happen in all families, we sometimes come into the twilight of a lazy day wondering what to eat. My wife figures it's her right to goof off occasionally and I'm inclined to agree. In this extremity we fall back on waffles and bacon. This will sustain life until morning and is quite lordly eating if you can work an egg or two into the act, limitless amounts of coffee and a slab of cake.
   There are times, too, when a husband must assume the burden. His wife will fall ill or go home to see mother, or attend Uncle Ben's funeral in Dubuque.

   A HUSBAND was telling me recently that his wife never left home for more than a day without having a bulging larder and leaving detailed menus for every dinner.
   "She might as well save her strength," he said. "I start off by mislaying the list, but always assume that things are under control as long as there's food around. I forget to plan until it's time to eat. Then it's too late."
   Too late is right. There are preliminaries to execute even if you have a written menu. For best results, you should look at it an hour before eating time and then get into action. And if food from the freezer is called for, look out.

   ONE 6 P.M. when milady was away I went to work on a batch of pork chops undismayed that the mass was hard as a rock. But dismay was not long in coming.
   Five minutes exposure to hot tap water failed to break the bond. So did diligent application of a screwdriver and pliers. Long boiling finally brought thaw but dinner was an hour late and I was years older.

Modern Times Defroster

   I suspect that husbands would do as well if thrown upon their own resources, that the cause might be better served if the wife, on departure, simply said, "Okay, Buster, take it from here until Friday."
   Then the old man, rather than relaxing in the knowledge that his wife had eased the way for him, would know he was under the gun and bestir himself. He also might gain greater appreciation for his lady.

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