The women of Duplex 1 have long insisted that in order to be a suitable mate one day I must learn how to cook.
They have dropped several subtle hints along the way; such as giving me numerous large, weighty cookbooks, countless cooking magazines, and mentioning politely that I will be a miserable failure as a husband if I cannot produce from fresh food items some semblance of an edible dish. I protested at great length (not unlike Martin Luther) that I could already make SO many dishes, but they made it clear that numerous varieties of 'sandwich' and cereal-based options did not count.
So I knew what I had to do.
The other evening (in private- I wished to appear infallible), I paged through one of the aforementioned large, weighty cookbooks looking at all the delicious sounding gourmet treats that I knew would result in catastrophic failure if attempted. All the recipes were either too complicated, had too many expensive ingredients, or didn't sound awesome enough... And then I saw it. The perfect selection.
Tabouli.
Not overly complicated, yet exotic enough to potentially impress my estrogen-rich neighbors and perhaps most importantly, it sounded easy enough for a culinary novice such as myself to actually reproduce. I collected the necessary ingredients from a selection of fine grocers (Joetan Superstore, Joetan medium-sized-store, and Superfresh). I was careful to select only the freshest produce and least outdated bulgar wheat. Everything had to be just right. That night, I completed the first step of the process. "Mix bulgar wheat and water. Let sit 6-8 hours or overnight". That completed, I blissfully dozed off to sleep.
The next day, I sliced and diced. I minced and mixed. I shed great big crocodile tears as I cut up green onions. Everything was going swell. Eventually, all the ingredients were mixed properly and I set it in the fridge for the final step in the eternal recipe, which was to "Chill 1-2 hours before serving".
***
A young man, ruddy and handsome, enters deserted living-room/ kitchen area.
Eagerly he walks to refrigerator with a purposeful look in his eye.
Opens door, reaches in and withdraws covered saucepan.
Grabs spoon from counter.
Removes covering.
He hesitates. A look of uncertainty momentarily clouds his face.
Brief pause.
He regains his composure, takes heaping spoonful and stuffs it into his open mouth.
His countenance falls.
Sullenly, he replaces the covering, places the saucepan back in the fridge, and exits apartment.
***
So what went wrong? I did everything correctly, right? All the right ingredients, assembled them in the correct order, followed the directions exac- oh. There was one small detail I erred in. The bulgar wheat and water mixture. It was supposed to sit 6-8 hours or overnight. I let it sit 6-8 hours, then overnight, then the next morning, then all afternoon and the rest of the day. 24 hours. Instead of Tabouli, I was apparently on the way to brewing up cheap beer.
Remember Cain and Abel? They both received the same (simple) instructions. God was pretty clear. One followed the directions, the other did not. Ergo, one sacrifice was accepted, one was not. Cains sacrifice was probably a tasty one. He was a farmer, and we're talking about earth shortly after the Garden of Eden. His produce was probably amazing. But it wasn't what God had asked for. How many times do we think "OK so it's not EXACTLY what's right but it's close, I'll probably be fine"? How often are we close to following the directions in Gods word, but not 100%? How often do we take what we know to be right and put our own spin on it, just because it's easier or more convenient to do so? Sometimes it's the simplest, the smallest deviations from right that have the most impact.
All I'm saying is, if I had followed the directions EXACTLY, my Tabouli would have surely turned out differently. Instead of writing about having learned a lesson, I would undoubtedly be basking in the glowing warmth of feminine satisfaction and admiration.
Something to think about, hm?
