When it comes to making love, if you think it takes only two to tango, let me take you out of your box for a minute.
Making love takes three.
I remember this saying every time I’m called out to cook a home-made meal for my kids, and by the way, it’s a full-time unpaid job with reward points only given once we are out of this world.
I’ve got my fingers crossed, while crossing my front side with my sign language prayer, In the name of the Father, the Son and Holy Spirit, and hoping to stock pile my reward points for some redeemable salvation.
Anyway, I’m talking about home-made meals instead of the instant, micro-blasted– is it real or an imitation meal, that resembles an afternoon romantic fling.
Real cooking, I believe, must be passed lovingly down three generations in order for the, “I love to cook, serve and eat home-made meals,” connection to exist.
The visits to the grandparents usually is an excellent place to begin love-making. The love of home cooking: Grandmas homemade apple pies with homemade peach ice cream and grandpa’s secret BBQ sauce dribbled over the ribs during the summer cookouts gently woos any child into a love fest for home-made foods, while moms and dads sit watching the kids play under the sun-dried laundry that blows freely in the wind.
This love-making continues to the next generation, the parents.
Single or partners, makes no difference. Of course, if you are a single parent with full custody of your kids…life is tougher but real meals are attainable.
Busy lives mean less time to spend cooking from scratch these days so over the years I’ve adopted to cook at least three home cooked meals a week.
Now, I can’t say I loved this rule or that I even followed it rigidly and consistently in my home, since you know how life sometimes just explodes in your face and…
Oh, sweet talking McDonalds, he sure is a quick and easy lover to have around. Those tender chicken nuggets and golden fries…what’s not to love, right?
But remember, a flings a fling. You gotta love ’em them leave them…get back home Loretta.
I say…get back HOME!
Finally, when your grown up, first daughter, calls you out of the blue on a fine winter morning and asks how to make the special family chicken dish you lovingly fixed and served so many times over the years as the children grew and flourished, it is because it took at least three generations of love-making to cast out the imitation lovers for this real thing:
A lovingly home-made, for at least three generations, cooked meal.