Israel has perfect timing when it comes to helping out in the kitchen. Usually for a lunch get together I will be up very early starting things from scratch, from making a list to striking it off one by one as each item is finished. I wouldn't have even thought of breakfast on that day. But when the crew descends downstairs they will want a breakfast. A quick fix of toast or bagel won't do that day - they want real Saturday morning breakfast. I should tell you Israel takes care of breakfast on weekdays, so weekend breakfast is my responsibility. OK, I'll switch to making some custom pancakes and what not all the while looking at the clock to make sure I am not too far behind.
My idea would be that if I feed this clan of mine some heavy breakfast then they would give me a hand with the errands. However one by one everyone will vanish into thin air, watching TV or back to bed while the poor me continues alone.
Around noon I would be done cooking, cleaning, setting, and would quickly sweep the kitchen table and floor.Oh yes, Israel would vacuum the other rooms and I would rush for a quick shower; and just when I come downstairs it would be time for the guest to arrive or one or two would have already arrived while I am gone, greeted by "poor" Israel who will be trying to finish up the vacuuming.
Just then the oven would be done and of course Israel helps with taking the trays out of the oven as I am afraid to do so. So, he puts his vacuum away, gets the mittens and pulls the trays out, spreads some coriander leaf decor already cut and kept aside and brings it to the table, which is also already set - yes, by me - who else?!
OK, we all have a good time, dessert is served, everyone is happy, all is well and suddenly a commotion breaks out among the guests. When you pay attention the husbands are feeling uncomfortable over some comments their respective wives are making. What is that? "Look at Israel, how much he helps around the kitchen!!"
For all they saw was Israel working, greeting, cleaning, taking the trays out of the oven,decorating it with final touch thus appearing as if he was cooking too and oh yes, he makes sure the kids eat. And what they saw of me was climbing down the stairs in fresh attire. I wasn't at the door to receive them, greet them, offer them anything hot or cold, didn't vacuum, didn't take the tray out of the oven and hence didn't cook or didn't even take care of the kids...
What say folks? Isn't it perfect timing?!
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