The Dream Job

By Keith N Fisher

My wife and I catered and competed with Dutch ovens for years. We were a team. I would cook everything, maneuvering the ovens and setting up equipment. Her responsibility was to mix ingredients and come up with deserts to die for. I’m also the meat expert and greeter.

When she agreed to be my partner in that first cook off, it was contingent on her staying in the background. Greeting spectators was my department. I love talking to people, so the arrangement worked well for me.

Then, a few years into it, I watched my wife teach an impromptu class on making gumdrop roses for cake decorating. I knew the hobby had changed her. She was coming out of her shell. The gratification I felt multiplied, when She apologized for stealing my thunder while interrupting my lecture on coal placement at a charity event we cooked for this year.

Now she’s at Girls Camp. She was asked to be camp cook and she wanted me to come and help. We told her no. It’s for young women, no boys allowed. So, with some trepidation, she’s been planning meals, buying food, storing food, and locating equipment. Now, she’s up there and our living room seems to have grown. The refrigerator seems empty.

Wendy asked my opinion about many things from portion sizes to how many coals to use. I took half a day off and loaded the stuff into the truck and a trailer we borrowed. Then on Tuesday, I took the day off and drove her to camp.

I helped set up her kitchen and came home. The operative words there are “her kitchen”. I think this is the first time she’s cooked without me and I’m feeling left out. When I think of the menu she planned, I’m jealous. Those girls are eating well. Better than if they were staying at the hotel.

My wife is receiving the accolades she deserves and she is growing. I wouldn’t trade that for being the camp cook on one of Teddy Roosevelt’s hunting parties. Well, I’d have to work out a deal so we could do both. I’m looking forward to meeting him after I die.

Until then, I’m sitting back with baited breath. I can’t wait to hear about the wonderful meals she cooked. I’m excited to hear praises from those who are there. I’m hoping for leftovers, although I know my hope is in vain. There won’t be any food left. One thing I learned while cooking on bishopric night at girl’s camp is, girls eat more than boys do, when the boys aren’t around.

I also learned they’re grateful. I’ve felt like a hero after cooking for them. I’m convinced. My wife has the best church job in the world.