My wife’s cooking is the best, I insist

Never compare your wife’s cooking with your mother’s. Even if your mother is culinary queen Alice Taabu. That is the second biggest gustatory mistake you can make.

In their duet, Toni Braxton chides Dre’s mama’s boy tendencies: “Tell you what; since she (mama) knows it all/Then that’s where you need to be.”

Be a gentleman about it. Shush. The way to a woman’s hurt is through stuff she cannot stomach. Like put-downs.

FIRST BIGGEST BOO - BOO

Never contrast her cooking with your ex’s. There is nothing like simply comparing. Newsflash. You are committing a serious sin: Coveting. Golden rule is, the words “ex, cooking, and great” should never appear in any sentence. Ever.

Check out other definitions of ex. “Out of fashion.” “Old-hat.” Which means, if what’s-her-name’s cooking was all gravy, yet it could not keep the keeper, then the old-hat got directions to your ticker all twisted. Um, just saying.

EAT, MAN, EAT

Do not ever refuse food. Bad call. Do not “strike”, even if you have fought and your appetite has gone south. Even if you suspect that she has done something freaky to your chapati. Simply say grace, share the chow with her, and you are covered.

You are not merely snubbing food. Uh-uh. You are trashing her submission, service, and pride. Look here, bro. If you must be passive aggressive, then, puh-lease, passive aggressively wolf down that sister’s sacrifice. Comprende? Perfect.

JUDGE NOT

Never criticise her cooking. Unless you are spoiling for your last supper. Your girl spent “x” hours burning her fingers, while you spent “y” lifetimes zzz-ing on your lazy boy. Dude, the least you can do is appreciate.

So she burned your tenderloin steak? Tough. Lay your hands on it and pray for the burnt offering. She cannot measure up to your standards? Tut-tut, Bartimaeus. Lay hands on your eyes and pray for sight.

TWO MANY COOKS

Do not showboat, doing some fancy little cooking because you swear she does not have your class. In kitchen-speak that is like screeching, “Loser”. If you have five stars to rave home about, leave them on the porch… with that monkey.

Easy, sour chef. Precious is not playing for patrons, tips, or pay slip. Her homemaking wages are incalculable. Period.

Plus, in such affairs, it is a thin line between being real and being real mean.

Never toy with her food. So the vegan in her has served rice pancakes for breakfast and you are missing your bacon? Quick, run to Ngong’ Hills… and work that big appetite.

Even if you just won an eating competition, chomp like you are just from a straight 40 days and 40 nights fast. Speaking of things religious; eating is not merely a matter of biting, chewing, and swallowing. Nope. It is deeper. Matrimonial communion deeper.

RESERVED PARKING

Do not pass on her food, arguing that, for instance, you have eaten at so-and-so’s. Always leave some “reserved parking” for her grub.

How would you feel if she came home bragging how she had enjoyed your football derby elsewhere? You would feel cheated? That is what I thought. Same script, different cast. Okay, almost same script.

“Reserved parking” means you are thinking about her. That you will not let her labour of love go to the leftovers shelf, untouched.

ATTITUDE OF GRATITUDE

You did the hunting and gathering. She is merely done the cooking, right? Dead wrong. “He who finds a wife finds a good thing and gets favour from the Lord”. That is the Bible.

Reality check. Your wife is bringing consecrated clout to the table.
Say, “Thanks”, after eating. And mean it. This good thing that gets you godly favours deserves a standing ovation. The attitude of gratitude will get you more game. Trust me.
RSVP

Never cancel dinner plans. BTW, never cancel any dates. Brunch, high tea, nightcap. Crawl home, if you must. Better a late-limping-roses-carrying date than an absolute no-show.

In The Pursuit of Happiness, Chris Gardner is arrested while painting his house. Next day he sprints from the cooler to his high-status interview, looking like a hobo. Aha. He catches his biggest break. You are treed, counties away from the rendezvous? Go for broke, knight, and get your mama.

RAT RACE

This can leave you with quail egg on your face or pie on your platter. If she asks you to grade her skills, do a “rate race”. That is, “be as shrewd as serpents and as harmless as doves”. Jesus’ counsel; not Joe Soap’s.

I do not envy you. Not one bit. Fib, and it will come back for you. Ditto the whole truth. So? Race round the rate subject wisely and gently. Good luck.

(Psst. Brothers, these tips also apply to your sex life).