A few weeks ago, my friend called me in a panic. She was at Target at 9 am on a Sunday and things were looking bleak. She needed advice about curtains. She told me that I was the only person she could think of that could actually help.
I tried to remember the size of a standard curtain as I wiped the sleep out of my eyes. I glanced over at the empty bottle of wine on my nightstand, cursing it’s mind erasing powers.
I advised the best I could. I hung up, chuckling to myself. How had I become the person that friends call with these things?
I don’t like to think of myself as domestic. I ask my friend Irish to hem my pants and my bedroom is a mess. If Martha Stewart ever met me, she would die inside: I eat food off the floor, serve red wine with fish, and often use the wrong fork.
“Domestic” is worse than the “f word” to me. It means a taming, a calming. It conjures up an image of waiting on some man hand in foot while he sits and watches the game with his hands down his pants. It has become the “d word”, far worse than any word that begins with an F…it, to me, meant a quaint capitulation I could not give in to.
Yet, as I stood over her curtains later that night– cutting, ironing, measuring–I knew I was a tad domestic. She thanked me profusely, but I was happy to help. When you love someone, it is no longer the “D word”, it is merely an act of affection…just something you do. You realize some silly definition of yourself you have been holding on to since you were a bratty teenager is ridiculous. That you aren’t giving in if you help and you can still eat your food off the linoleum if you can work an iron. There are far worse things one can be called than domestic…just don’t call me domesticated.
Last Friday, I flitted around the apartment as vegetables roasted and the dishwasher churned. The house smelled like an issue of “Good Housekeeping”…but the overflowing sink told the truth. It was business as usual, just me going about my day, being perfectly undomesticated, doing what I do. The roasted vegetables would be folded into a bed of cous cous and given away, devoured by a hungry crowd of new friends at a small food blogger potluck. It turned out perfectly…flavorful and light.
Martha would be proud.
Ratatouille Cous Cous
1 Japanese eggplant (or small Italian eggplant), cubed
1 medium sized zucchini, cubed
3 vine ripe tomatoes (or one large hothouse tomato), deseeded and cubed
1 large red bell pepper, cubed
1 medium sized red onion, roughly chopped
1/4 cup olive oil
2 t dry thyme
Salt and pepper
1 1/2 cups dry plain cous cous
Preheat oven to 425. Toss together vegetables with oil, thyme, salt and pepper. (Go heavier on the salt and pepper than you normally would…maybe a tablespoon of salt and 1/2 tablespoon pepper). Roast for 45-50 minutes, stirring several times. Vegetables are done when the veggies are soft and a bit brown.
While vegetables cook, prepare cous cous accoring to directions on box. Mix roasted vegetables in to cous cous and add more salt and pepper to taste.
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{ 18 comments… read them below or add one }
Oh my god! get out of my head! You totally hit the nail on the head: Domestic, not domesticated. And it IS something I’ve held onto since I was an idealistic, idiotic, self-absorbed teenager with no realistic take on the world and/or emotions slash love slash life.
I heart you, Lemmy.
(There! look! Emotions! Oh how far I’ve come!)
Leaps and bound, we have come.
ps: If I met me as a teenager, I would totally kick myself in the teeth.
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It’s a great night when the bottle of wine makes it’s way all the way into the bedroom and onto the nightstand!
It happens on the regular. I love cuddling with some Pinot and my laptop.
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When we rebel in this country, I think we have a tendency to over-react a bit. Like racism. It’s bad, but it also bred the whole PC thing, which has been taken WAY overboard. I think the same thing sort of happened with being domestic. People associate things like ironing and sewing and stuff like that, with women being at home, shackeled to the bed/kitchen… but you know what? They’re really important skills… I’d love to be able to go back and remember what they taught me back in Home Ec in 8th grade, cause I gotta tell ya, I don’t have the foggiest idea how to hem pants, but it sure would be helpful to know!
I totally agree. Also, when I was finished with those curtains (I hemmed 6) I felt a real sense of accomplishment. They looked really good, if I do say so myself.
Also, I was astonished I didn’t fall off the ladder…
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Lemmy why are you in denial? First it was the hipster clothes at the gym and now its domestication. Girl, you cook. It doesn’t get anymore domesticated than that.
Denial is an old friend…a constant companion.
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I love how many healthy dishes you’ve been making
I finally tried the cauliflower (aka Lumpy childhood memory) and as amazing as it was on its own, I threw a lightened-up cheese sauce through it – slammed on some panko – broiled it and turned it into “mac” n cheese. Mmmm…
Time to get to some cous cous!
I also have 2 butternut squashes, 1 acorn squash and 1 delicata squash to use up – I have a feeling they will all turn into baked squash fries… any fancier ideas??
Well, you could also roast those…fairly similar to the sweet potatoes I did last week. Or, with cinamon, nutmeg and cardamon for something more sweet…
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so scared to write this comment – what is cous cous?
It is a granule like pasta…see how it almost looks like dots? Very versatile.
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Yeah, what Doug said. Seems like so many young and youngish women take pride in not being able to cook or sew. I cook and sew (half-assed), but it’s not like I can’t piss standing up because of it. Get with it people–domestic duties won’t turn you into June Cleaver (not that there’s anything wrong with June).
I do get annoyed when women look at me like I am a nut when I say I cook. There ain’t no shame in it, baby. Plus, cooking a meal for someone is one of the nicest things you can do.
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Look, there’s nothing wrong with being domestic. It means you can get shit done! I’m a guy and people say I’m domestic. It’s a badge of honor, dammit!
I can totally get shit done. Those curtains were my bitch (even if I was really nervous I was going to screw them up).
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Thank you – I no longer feel food stupid -
I am here to educate.
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I’m very domestic. I used to be a housewife. I cook, I clean, I decorate, I organize other people’s closets for fun.
I think what a lot of women fear is being in the sort of marriage Lemmonex described – the woman doing all the cooking and cleaning, while the man sits on his ass. I’ve been there, it’s awful to feel taken advantage of.
My theory? Many a man has feigned incompetence at things like toilet brush usage, cooking, and grocery lists, so women are fighting back by also pretending to not know this stuff.
In all fairness, though, I will never date a man who doesn’t own a toolkit. Is that sexist?
Yes…I like your theory. I just really fear being taken advantage of. I have seen it too much, and also, at my core, I like to help and make people happy and that can cause problems with boundaries. ANYWAY…
No, that is not sexist. I totally assume all my male friends can solve any computer issue.
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I am going to stand up for my brothers-in-arms and come back with the generalization that women are so insane about how things have to be just so, that even when we try to help we’re chastised for not doing it “the right way.” You catch hell enough and you stop caring.
Luckily, I had equal learning time with moms and pops. I can change a tire, but I can also iron a shirt better than your local dry cleaner.
I think you make a good point, but I honestly do my best not to point out “the right way” with thing, especially cleaning. I hate it, so if a guy does it, he can do it whatever way he damn well pleases.
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“When you love someone, it is no longer the ‘D word’, it is merely an act of affection…just something you do. You realize some silly definition of yourself you have been holding on to since you were a bratty teenager is ridiculous.”
Wow, really well-put. Maybe some of the true adults here (I’m of course excepting you and I from that group) will smile at our wide-eyed discovery of love (both the platonic and romantic kinds) and the maturation process, but to me, this really struck a chord.
I think it describes (well) both the process that you and I and probably a lot of people our age have gone through of realizing what real love is and the overall process of becoming, again, a true adult. Not just someone who can vote or buy beer, but someone who understands concepts like responsibility, voluntarily letting go of long-held attitude, and, of course, love (see how I brought that full circle).
It was a hell of a lot easier when we were stubborn, close minded kids, huh? This is not to say I do not have my moments of being selfish–because I definitely do–but it’s gotten better and I think I am aware of it more now.
We turned out ok, B.
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somehow 9am sunday doesn’t generally spell curtains…ur a good friend–i would have never answered..gotten the message and been pissed. i’m always looking for yum couscous recipes b/c it cooks it no time flat.
Well, I was also concerned something was wrong. She would pick up for me.
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I’ve done a 180 domestication-style in the past few months… and I think I like it. SCARY
It suits you. Embrace it.
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I can attest that the Ratatouille Cous Cous was every bit as good as it looks. The leftovers came in handy for dinner the next night. I salute you for traveling to Virginia with cous cous in tow for our early dinner (AKA picnic)!
I had a wonderful time. Thanks so much for opening your home.
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ur right, i would be worried that something was wrong too. who knew curtains can bring on a crisis?
Curtains are totally tricky, though…cannot blame her.
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i’m the d word in my group of friends too. just a few weeks ago a friend was redecorating her place and consulted me on just about every decision. i also make a roasted vegetable orzo, that looks similar to the dish you posted.
At least our friends can turn to us…and I love orzo. I think it is really underrated.
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Hi Honey
Remember I DID meet you when you were a teenager and I didn’t kick you in the teeth. I immediately fell in love with all of you. So I guess that showed me the upside of domestic. I wonder though have I become domesticated in my middle years? I don’t know I’ll let you decide. You know I trust you.
I still heart you
D
Thanks Don–I love you too. And I think you have become…mellower and a tad more domestic…
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