the great spatula war

My friend and I get along great. She loves to bake, cook, read, study, and do awesome things. I love to bake, cook, read, study, and do awesome things. We love doing awesome things together. We’ll be eating lunch and both hear something out of the corner of our ears. One glance at each other and enough is said. Giggles would be exchanged, if we permitted ourselves to do such in public, and hearts would be warmed, if such sappy sentiments were allowed. Also, we both consider ourselves fine emerging cooks. After all, our baking disasters have been few and far between, at least, few and far between this week.

As such, completing a recipe together in the kitchen would be sure to yield delicious, mouth-watering, never-seen-before results. Right?

Yeah . . . right.

Apparently we both do one more thing alike, create habits in the kitchen, habits that are surprisingly hard to break. To add to the ruts in our nice linoleum floor, there is an innate tendency to implore (or insist) that others fall into these ruts as well. We kept searching for things the other could do, but, well, you know, I really don’t know if I’ll like the way she’ll cut this . . . perhaps it would be better if I just did it . . . maybe just a little more time cooking . . . I think I’ve been burning pans longer . . . oh, no . . . stop, just stop.

That was about the long and the short of it.

But the great spatula war? Never happened.

About fifteen times I swore I was going insane. This was not the way to brown it, I am perfectly capable of mincing this, etc., etc. Then I sat down afterwards, tongue bleeding from being bitten, temper irritable from her different ways, and I smiled.

We made it!

By some compromises, some ‘letting go’s, and quite a few chomps on the unattached muscle, we made it.

“But that doesn’t mean that your friendship is stronger!” one protests.

It does. Not simply because we slugged through it and then could look at each other and smile and laugh afterward, but also because we could talk about it. Sure, it was a passing word on how unnecessarily awkward and frustrating certain aspects of the time were, but it was communication and reconciliation. It was laughing at the incomprehensible pettiness both parties served and were served. It was simply being there for each other when we were running from each other.

The result?

A delicious dish I won’t soon forget.



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