The Kitchen Insurrection

Women have finally said, “No More!” They’ve revolted. Legions of liberated feminists have abandoned kitchens across the land. Men are starving and Alka-Seltzer sales are soaring.

Husbands arrive, exhausted and ravenous. “Honey, I’m home…what’s for dinner?” Commanding voices answer, “Whatever you’re fixing…girls’ night out.” From the TV room mournful lamentations groan, “What about me?” Silence. Men know…it’s takeout again.

Women are tired of cooking, guys. Get a grip. It’s not fair, but factual. They’re sick of asking, “Whatta you want for dinner?” always hearing the same soppy response, “Whatever you want, Sweetie!” Women have murdered for less. So, kitchens and refrigerators are now as empty as men’s bellies…the famine has finally arrived!

Why? Men ask such stupid questions. Simple. Women have spent their finest hours in kitchens, shackled like slaves in sweltering sweatshops. Kitchens are where men breeze in, eat and exit…“Thanks, Hon, real good…gotta go now.” Women sit alone at the table, smoldering, staring at the disaster left for them to clean up. They wonder, “Is it worth it?”

Face it. Men weren’t cut out for kitchens. Take cooking, for example. Can men read recipes longer than three words? No. They throw whatever’s handy into the mix, boil or fry it. Result? More Pepto! Neither can men locate things in the pantry…they stare right at it, and yell, “Honey, we’re out of mayo.” Women know what “we” means!

A man’s kitchen is his grill, an unsightly outside fire pit. It’s a blackened steel drum, rusted and coated with fat and offal from fires past. Disgusting. The Health Department would declare it a bacillus-breeding contagion. It’s an altar where hapless creatures become backyard-sacrifices to the cookout gods, their charred carcasses befouling the neighborhood with toxic smoke.

My wife left me to fend for myself once. She later asked what I’d done for dinner. “Why, what men have done from time immemorial…I lit a fire, tossed a slab of red meat on it and opened a Bud.” She recoiled in horror, “No salad?” Women have strange ideas of balanced meals. Men know meat and beer are nutritionally perfect! Clean up’s easy.

Men make good use of nature when cooking. As boys they’d cut down whole trees for fires. Big fires were good. They’d trim a few branches and whittle the ends sharp. They’d spear wieners or marshmallows, and often one another. Then they’d torch them like brilliant flambeaus, and eat ‘em. Boys can go in the strength of that food forty days and forty nights!

Clean-up duty…another reason women have left the kitchen. I never minded cleaning up, really. Except things never really got clean. My wife would inspect the job, which often resulted in a re-wash. Cleanliness is a relative term…men and women interpret it differently. As a child I learned my definition on a creek bank.

Open flames will cook about anything, especially fried. Things like fish, potatoes, bacon and eggs were tasty staples. Grease was the operative ingredient then. Hot grease is like gas…it mixes great with fire! Boys love fires. With mud from the creek bank we’d wipe the pans ‘clean,’ dip ‘em in the creek and viola, ready for the next meal. Somehow we survived. Young boys are indestructible…they can drink Drano for breakfast!

You wanna see a woman really explode? Let a man collate her cookware into his idea of an orderly arrangement. Washing cats is safer! All that men require is one gigantic walk-in closet where everything can be tossed. Perfect order…they’d always know where things were and where they belonged. Men invented chaos.

Want more reasons? Try table place settings. For men, forks, spoons and knives would be grouped for convenience, not convention, depending on whether they were right or left-handed. Logical? Right! And place mats? Oh, don’t bother. Stacks of table clutter abound… newspapers, coupon inserts and magazines. They work fine. And napkins? Who needs ‘em…paper towels are cheap.

There’s more. Try ‘fear of dishwasher.’ Nothing good can come from men learning to operate such equipment. And don’t even mention cleaning kitchen counters. Germs? No worry…outta sight, outta mind! The list goes on and on.

And so do men’s appetites. Except things are different now. The Kitchen Insurrection has gained traction…she’s out, we’re in. What about us men? Must we watch Paula, Rachel or Emeril on TV? No way!

Not me. I’ve posted a “Cook Wanted” ad at a local diner. But until one shows up, I’m taking matters into my own hands. I’m in control of the kitchen now, and guys, grease is makin’ a comeback!


Bud Hearn
May 27, 2010