I love everything about Chef Ina Garten—her liberal usage of butter in basically every dish, her smile, even the multicolored bindings of her books. Ina is just fantastic. I find “The Barefoot Contessa” to be one of the most soothing shows on television, and I often flip through Ina’s books longing for some Macaroni, French toast and Coconut Cake. I promise to dedicate a few posts to trying out her recipes, maybe Italy will inspire the chef in me to come forth… For now, I just have to say: my tolerance for Jeffrey is running out.
Jeffrey is Ina’s husband. He is a perfectly decent human being, I am sure, but he is maybe the least helpful sous chef ever. Ina slaves away over the stove, cooking lobster for Jeffrey, baking pies for Jeffrey, keeping Jeffrey from going hungry, and Jeffrey doesn’t. Do. Anything. EVER! This is nothing against Ina. I worship at the altar of Ina’s Chicken Stew with Biscuits, but Jeffrey. Oh Jeffrey. He doesn’t help! He just eats!
In my house, when I cook, which is infrequently, I at least expect my siblings to help clear the plates for me. Wash the dishes, maybe peel some potatoes, boil the water. If I were Ina, I would make Jeffrey sit down with all of her cookbooks, and take notes.
(By the way, I know this is an unpopular opinion.)
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