A few months after we moved to Michigan our real estate agent put us in touch with another couple she was working with. The husband was also a GM transferee, and our agent thought we would hit it off. Well, that couple, Jeff and Molly, has turned out to be great friends which I know is a kindness God gave me in the first months after our move.
However, the first time we went to their house for dinner I was shocked to see that Jeff had done a majority of the cooking. Molly told me that Jeff really enjoyed cooking and even watches the Food Network for tips. And the dinner was really, really good, which upped the ante for the next meal I fixed for them.
So the next time they came over I was just a bit concerned that I didn’t really have anything up my oven mitt that I could pull out to impress our new friends. Because, while I can follow a recipe and thankfully have almost figured out how to make the meat and veggies come out at the same time, I am not a great cook.
I was fretting just a bit before they arrived and began venting to Sean, and my words got tangled and I ended up calling Jeff “Chef Cookaloni” because that kind of rhymes with his last name. The kids heard it and laughed hysterically, Sean laughed hysterically, and I was in tears trying to convince them not to tell Jeff or Molly what I’d said. You can imagine those pleas fell on deaf ears.
As we were sitting around the table, Michael perked up with, “Hey, Mom, why don’t you tell Mr. *** what you called him this afternoon?” So I told, and a nickname was born.
Well, Chef Cookaloni is about to lose that nickname. Molly called me earlier this week to say the good Chef apparently cannot make a simple cup of hot chocolate. She was in the basement, and when she came upstairs she found Chef wiping hot chocolate off the walls, cabinets, and floor. And he would not tell her how it happened. She told him if he didn’t, she’d tell me about the mess. He still refused, so I got the phone call. And as she was on the phone telling me the story she found more of the dried hot chocolate on the blinds.
I am, of course, left wondering what the heck happened in the kitchen of Chef Cookaloni. So, Chef, are you going to spill the beans, since you already spilled the beverage? It can’t be anywhere near as bad as the moat loaf disaster I told you about…
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