50th Post Celebration: Sous! Cut the Onions!

Early in our relationship Tiffany and I realized that there really can only be one cook in the kitchen, no matter how big your kitchen is. We both like to be in control, and only one of us can be. It's either my dish or Tiffany's dish; it cannot be our dish.

The solution Tiffany devised is to deem whoever came up with or is most excited about the dish, Chef. The other half of the couple is Sous-chef, or Sous for short. But I find those roles aren't very helpful. For instance, when I am in the kitchen by myself, I am Chef, obviously. And I'm good at that, in my own way. I'm perfectly comfortable with the fact that I have 15 open spice bottles or flour and sugar containers in front of me and only the slightest recollection as to which I have already used. I don't mind the fact that I have to consult my Joy (of Cooking) for every single step.

But when Tiffany is my Sous, I become very flustered. I can't help but think she's judging the fact that I consult my Joy. For. Every. Single. Step. Also, I don't have a commanding presence in the kitchen. As Sous, Tiffany often tells me what to order her to do:

"Chef, you have to tell me to get your bowls and spoons," she'll say, coming up behind me with my bowls and spoons as I pore over Joy.

"Chef, I'm going to mix the milk and eggs and that way you can sift the dry ingredients," she'll say, pushing Joy aside and handing me my dry ingredients.

This is how it was happening Sunday when we made pumpkin bread and pumpkin soup. We had 5 pounds of freshly pureed pumpkin we had prepared to make a practice-pumpkin pie for Thanksgiving, but this practice-pumpkin pie never materialized because the friends we invited over to help us make it brought two homemade pumpkin pies as examples of a finished product (that's kind of a tongue twister, isn't it? And a run-on sentence. Apologies!). It turns out there is such a thing as too much pie in a one-bedroom apartment.

Anyway, I was Chef for the bread because I like to bake, and Tiffany was Chef for the soup because... well, because I thought the soup was a bad idea to begin with (when it comes to passing judgment on Tiffany's decisions on what to prepare, I am an excellent Chef). It sounded too sweet to me. Also, I wanted to take a shower after the bread was in the oven, and Chefs cannot leave the kitchen to shower.

When I came out, I found Tiffany in tears in the kitchen, knife in hand. For a moment, I thought the pumpkin had made her suicidal, but it turns out she had been chopping the onion the soup called for. Ever since we started buying all our fruits and veggies at the farmers' market, we've noticed a major change in our onions. They are painfully potent.

"Uh oh," I said, padding into the kitchen in my slippers.

She brushed past me and threw herself down on the carpet in our living room, pressing her fists into her eyes (no kitchen is too small for that omni-present ingredient, drama).

"How am I supposed to prepare my meal if I can't see!" she howled, trying not to laugh.

I tossed myself down beside her, giggling.

"Some ice for your eyes?" I offered. "What can I do?"

"You can grab the knife and cut the onion like a sous should!"

But chefs and sous are only Chefs and Sous in the kitchen. In the living room, we're just partners. So we lay there laughing, and then we got up and finished the soup together. And it was actually quite tasty.

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