Wednesday, January 26, 2011

Domesticity: the Modern Woman's Dilemma

"I think every woman should have a blowtorch."

Julia Child



This week, dear readers, I caved. I told my boyfriend he didn't have to make a Valentine's Day reservation.

I know, I know. I can't believe I'm letting him get away with it, either.

The thing is, despite my own vehement arguments in favor of being wined and dined--I quavered. Does anyone really want to sit down to a five course dinner on a Monday night? And upon perusing the February issue of Bon Appetit, I had a sneaking suspicion of what fun it might be to design and execute my own outrageous Valentine's day menu. I started to wonder if I had the moral fortitude to tackle live lobsters. I dreamt of truffled mashed potatoes and juicy steaks au poivre. I had an internal debate about the merits of molten chocolate cakes versus cardamom-spiced creme brulee.

And therein lies the rub: 21st century young, educated, working female, versus aspiring domestic goddess. What can you do.

I cook for my boyfriend a lot. Like, a lot. I pack his lunches (I know! I know). Sometimes, he leaves for work with still-warm scones from the oven. I fix Saturday morning cups of tea, I muddle afternoon cocktails. And nearly every single night of the week, I dish up homemade dinners. I plan, I shop, I cook. . . and Stephen? He does the dishes. Most of the time. Okay, sometimes.

It's not exactly a 50/50 division of labor.

So I broached the subject over dinner last night. It went something like this:

"Stephen, I was thinking about our division of labor."
"Mmph. This is really good jambalaya."
"Thanks. I was thinking that, since you're an enlightened modern gentleman and everything, you might like to start cooking dinner one night a week."
"Hmm."
"What do you think?"
"Can it be take away?"
"No."
"Can it be microwaved?"
"No."
"Can I have Fridays?"
"No."
"Can I have Saturdays?"
"No!"
"Okay."
"Okay."

I then promised, that so long as he actually cooked something on the stove or in the oven, I would do my best to withhold all critical comments. At this, Stephen started rolling on the floor laughing. Okay not really, but he did look pretty skeptical.

Tonight's the first night. I'll let you know how it goes.

And don't worry--no boys in the kitchen on the 14th of February.

Friday, January 14, 2011

The Canine Commuter

On Thursday evenings I now take a French class, and so ride the trains home later than usual. More often than not, catching the J-Church at Union Square, I've noticed a blind woman, who boards the train with her service dog: a lovely black labrador. I've shamelessly and delightedly observed the latter every occasion I've had to seen her.

The dog is truly adorable. I can't imagine that she's more than two or three years old, with brown eyes and big, almost puppyish paws for her smaller size. She patiently navigates her owner through the commuters on the platform, and together they seem to know exactly the spot where the front door of the train will open. At which point they assume the same seat, close to the driver and door.

The labrador typically sits quite obediently with the grave expression one might expect of a guide dog, but last night, something clearly was too much for her. She just--desperately!--absolutely--had to!--smell--the floor of the train! Again and again, she sunk her head downwards, and again and again, her owner corrected her, pulling up on her leash, occasionally having a few strict words. Until finally, taking advantage of a momentary slackness, she happily bellied down onto the floor, and gave whatever deliciousness there lie a big, resounding lick.

It made me wonder of the things we ask our dogs in the city. All the time, one sees dogs riding the trains--big dogs, small dogs, dogs in purses, dogs in laps, veteran, well-behaved commuter dogs, serious police dogs, and exuberant puppies alike. And honestly, I think certain dogs like having "jobs" as much as humans do. But consider the agony of walking through a stinky train station every evening without having the liberty to smell anything!