Tamie spent last weekend with our girls in Utah and is now hanging out with extended family in Idaho. The dog and I chose not to go.
Also, we weren’t invited.
I get it. The two of us are a lot to deal with on long road trips.
Before leaving, she tried setting us up with some “easy” dinner ideas. “You just need to get out two pans—”
I had to stop her right there. Getting out two pans exceeds the amount of effort I’m willing to put into a meal by at least two pans. Tamie knows this but still felt compelled to stress the importance of eating balanced meals. “You can’t live on cold cereal for a week,” she said, without evidence.
“We won’t,” I promised. There was only enough milk in the fridge for three or four days, tops. After that, we’d move on to Things We Can Eat Straight from a Can — a menu designed less around nutrition and more around minimizing dirty dishes. Otherwise we’d have to play rock, paper, scissors to determine who had to wash them, and Rupert has been on a real hot streak lately.
For the record, my aversion to working in the kitchen has nothing to do with chauvinism; I’m just extraordinarily practical. These might not be the exact words Tamie would use to describe me if she were here to proofread this post, but she’d probably agree on why I’m wired this way.
I’ve spent a lot of time training for endurance events, including triathlons, double-century bike rides, and multi-week treks across mountain ranges. My performance depends on food and drink choices: calories in has to match calories out. I used to focus on quality and taste but have learned to optimize for whatever fits best in my backpack. Success in the high Cascades, for example, means packing light, eating simply, and avoiding unnecessary hazards. Survival over culinary ambition — a strategy proven to withstand the harshest conditions.
Like when Rupert and I get left unattended.
This doesn’t mean the two of us don’t appreciate great meals. And Tamie makes really great meals. Ones that require pots and pans and spatulas and ingredients that must be carefully measured out and don’t come from a can opened with a multi-tool. Ones that are fresh and warm and flavorful. Ones that leave Rupert happy to lick the dishes afterwards and me happy to load them into the dishwasher, usually in that order.
Sure, we can get by on our own. But we’d rather not.
Life is better when Tamie is here.
In every possible way.
That’s why I try to ensure she stays healthy and happy whenever I travel. And since she lacks the refined palate required for my diet plan, I leave her with more practical dinner ideas. “You just need to get Rupert in the car and head toward the nearest Taco Bell—”
She always stops me right there.
