The Little Red Hen Loses It
June 23, 2005

Every hard working cook knows that the real satisfaction from cooking must be intrinsic. Who else in their right mind would spend hours learning recipes, planning meals, writing up shopping lists, driving to the supermarket to walk aisle after aisle to load up a giant cart with food, and then unload it on to a conveyor belt?  Then scan the food, pay for it with coupons, pack it into plastic, load it back into the giant cart, roll it out the parking lot to reload into the trunk, drive it home, unload it again from the car, unpack it in the kitchen, stock it, and then remove it again from shelves to prep it, cook it, serve it, and clean up the mess?

After twenty-two years of this food marathon it is just dawning on me that NO ONE in my family dares to acknowledge the existence of this insane drill; they realize that if they offer to pitch in I might wake up to the ridiculous rigor of this ritual and call the whole thing off. An occasional “kiss the cook” peck on the cheek is the only recognition they dare dole out. I am their grocery automaton and they like it this way.

Thank goodness that at midlife Mother Nature steps in and does some special favors for women like me. For example, last night I went to bed after a late evening food excursion and had the most wonderful nightmare. I dreamt that I was wielding a broom handle like an AK47 down the cereal aisle screaming “Little red hen no more, little red hen no more” as I wiped out row after row of boxes containing sugar-coated crap. Next, I found myself on a bobcat in the  snack aisle happily excavating the entire chip inventory with a crunch that set off an earthquake, which in turn tumbled the million bottles of juice choices off their shelves and created a giant sticky pool for all of the fish and beef and chicken to swim together in. Flour was everywhere as I tossed five pound bags around in a pillow fight with the eggs in the dairy case. The only section that went unscathed was the chocolate aisle; it was a delicious dream.  When I woke up I had a smile on my face and a great idea. School’s out for summer, I’ve got kids who drive, you won’t see me in the grocery store until fall.

Kim Dannies is a graduate of La Varenne Cooking School in France. She lives in Williston, VT with her husband, Jeff, and three college–aged daughters who come and go. ©2008