It was a Friday morning, and I had the luxury of a day off. My partner, Jamie, was off to her job at the kids’ school, taking our two eldest along for the ride. I was left at home with our toddler. As we discussed our plans for the day, Jamie casually dropped the bomb: “You’ll need to make dinner tonight.”
A deep sigh escaped my lips. This is my usual reaction whenever Jamie suggests I take on dinner duty. It’s not that I lack the ability—I’ve managed to whip up food before. But let’s be honest: cooking can feel like navigating a minefield. I often start with enthusiasm, only to find myself overwhelmed and regretting my culinary ambitions. As a result, my creations sometimes end up being less than gourmet.
Before I met Jamie, my diet consisted of frozen burritos, breakfast cereal, and copious amounts of soda. I was the stereotype of a single guy—wearing the same jeans for weeks, never changing my sheets, and sporting unkempt hair. Reflecting on my pre-fatherhood self, I can see just how much Jamie has pushed me to grow. Yet, my reluctance to cook makes me wonder if there’s still some work to be done.
“How about we just order pizza?” I proposed, as I often do.
Jamie was in the kitchen, scrolling through a recipe on her tablet, dressed smartly in black slacks and a vibrant cardigan. She turned to me with an intense look in her eyes—the kind that says “I’m running late, and I don’t have time for this.” It was a look that often accompanied our children when they were dragging their feet in the morning.
“Come on. You can make dinner,” she said, her tone a mix of encouragement and a hint of frustration. I suddenly felt as childish as our kids.
“It’s not rocket science. Just follow the recipe,” she added.
“What if I mess it up?” I retorted, but she just chuckled as if sharing a big secret. “I mess up all the time. Don’t stress about it. You have a master’s degree. You can handle turkey and rice soup.”
I recalled a quote by Louis C.K. about how fathers often have skills they never apply at home. He’s right—I manage a team of 60 students at work and have even contributed to various publications. Cooking for my family shouldn’t feel like scaling Everest. Yet, here I was, fearing I’d confuse teaspoons with tablespoons and ruin the entire meal.
The truth is, I could make dinner. I just felt a bit insecure about it. Maybe it stemmed from outdated notions that cooking is a woman’s role. Despite my advocacy for equal partnerships, I still caught myself falling into old patterns. Thankfully, Jamie wasn’t afraid to call me out on it, and it took me a while to accept her perspective rather than feeling defensive.
I took a deep breath and admitted something many men might struggle to say more often: “You’re right. I can make dinner.”
She shot me a knowing look before quickly explaining the recipe and how to use the slow cooker before dashing out the door.
Determined, I started preparing the meal earlier than necessary. I entertained the toddler with Popsicles and an iPad to keep her occupied. It wasn’t foolproof, but it worked for a while. I watched some online tutorials on mincing garlic and chopping onions without shedding tears. Thank goodness for the internet—it’s a treasure trove of information, even for the basics like “What is a garlic clove?”
Once everything was simmering in the pot, I reflected on Jamie’s words: “Dude. You can make dinner.” What she really meant was, “It’s time to step up.” After nearly 13 years together, we’ve switched roles several times—me as a stay-at-home dad, her as the provider, and vice versa. Yet, I had clung to the idea that whining could absolve me from cooking duties. With Jamie working and me home on Fridays, it was time to adapt once again.
Transitions can be tricky. When couples shift their dynamics, they often have to recalibrate their routines. It isn’t always seamless, but in 2023, it’s clear that a woman can earn the paycheck while a man can whip up dinner. Sometimes those roles reverse, and navigating that switch can be complicated.
When Jamie returned home after gymnastics, she found a beautifully set table. Our kids, however, promptly informed me that dinner tasted “funny.” I’ll admit it—there may have been a bit too much oregano. Still, it was warm and edible. After the meal, Jamie and I tackled the dishes together.
“You’re on dinner duty next Friday,” she said.
I nodded, feeling a newfound confidence. “I know. I’ve got this.”
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In summary, cooking dinner as a dad can be daunting, but it’s a skill worth mastering. My journey from kitchen phobia to dinner-making confidence highlights the importance of stepping out of our comfort zones. It’s time for men to embrace the apron and take charge in the kitchen—because, after all, we can make dinner too.