Live Oak — Question! What’s dumber than a fence post? Answer: Me, in front of a kitchen stove.

Now, in my defense I should say that as a child I was raised in a home where neither the taste nor the preparation of food had any priority or value. That’s because while my mother had many wonderful attributes, cooking was not amongst them and she would have been the first to admit that. I think she viewed an hour in the kitchen as comparable to a week of laboring on a Florida chain gang.

As a result, what came out of her kitchen was always something that could be whipped-up fast. And what it was? Well, that was often open to interpretation. In other words, while Green Eggs and Ham was a children’s book for most, for me it was often dinner.

This situation even colored my view of “dining” when my mother was not cooking. For instance, in my house, Swanson TV dinners were considered fine cuisine reserved for those “special occasions.” Our caterer was the pizza delivery boy. And it should be noted that I was almost 18 before realizing that “eating out” didn’t have to involve a parking lot waitress (the really cool one’s wore roller skates) fastening an aluminum tray to the car window.

Such was my childhood. So perhaps my ignorance in the kitchen can be explained, if not exactly justified.

Fortunately for me, I found a gal who is not only a good cook, but enjoys playing in the kitchen. However, as she had a career every bit as hectic as mine, she wasn’t particularly anxious to have me underfoot, asking dumb questions as she rushed to prepare an evening meal for four particularly after a 10-hour day at the office. So as things evolved, every night she cooked and I had KP duty.  

But now that we are both retired and have some extra time, I have decided I would like to learn my way around the kitchen. As a result, I’m now enrolled in a cooking class at our local Suwannee-Hamilton Technical Center. It is a so-called “one dish meal” affair, which I suspect is just about my limit.   

Interestingly enough, the teacher was worried that the class might be too “basic” for students. She’s now certain it isn’t. Her confidence level in that area soared after I asked how you set the temperature on a broiler which, up until this class, I always thought was nothing more than a youthful chicken.

By the way, Lynda has enrolled with me. Not that she needs the lessons, but I believe it was a prerequisite for my being allowed in the class. You see, after my broiler question, I think I was listed as a “special needs” student, who would greatly benefit from having at my side a full-time “teacher’s aide.” And I’m sure Lynda’s presence has relieved our instructor significantly, as the odds of me burning down the tech center or poisoning someone have now diminished to almost zero.

I’m working hard at learning how to cook, both in class and at home. Now every night at five, I’m in the kitchen at my wife’s side doing everything she says. Not that that is particularly different from anywhere else in the house. At any rate, Lynda tells family and friends progress is being made….slowly… very slowly.  

I disagree. I think I’m making great strides. For instance, I now know the toaster is not to be used in preparing pork chops; flipping pancakes is a requirement…not optional; and last but not least, egg salad tastes much better when you hard-boil the eggs!   

Gee, in another week or so, they’ll be calling me Chef Jim.

Jim lives in Live Oak.