The Weekly Newspaper serving the citizens of Morenci, Mich., Fayette, Ohio, and surrounding areas.

  • Front.cheers
    MACEE BEERS joins other Fayette Elementary School students for the annual Mini-Cheer performance during the half-time break at the basketball game.
  • Family.3.wide
    CHILDREN at Stair District Library’s Family Story Time toss scarves into the air during an activity. The evening program provided a mix of stories, songs, dancing, crafts and snacks Monday evening. The program is offered at 5:30 p.m. every Monday for five more weeks. The program is designed for three to five year olds and their family.
  • Front.newpaper.2
    THE INTERVIEW—Evelyn Joughin (right) records the interaction with an iPad while Jack Varga, next to her, asks questions of Morenci Elementary School principal Gail Frey. Morenci senior Sam Cool (standing) listens. Cool serves as the editor for the newspaper written by members of Mrs. Barrett’s second grade class.
  • Front.code.2
    WRITING CODE—Brock Christle (left), a Morenci fifth grade student, takes a look at the progress being made by fourth grader Anthony Lewis. Libby Rorick, a sixth grade student, is next in a line of girls trying out the coding tutorials. This year marked Morenci’s second year of participation in the Hour of Code project.
  • Front.gym.new
    REMIE RYAN (left) tries to dodge the foam wand held by Hayden Bays during physical education class at Morenci Elementary School. In the background, Lauryn Dominique and Brooklyn Williams stay clear of the tag. Second grade students were working on cardiovascular health on the first day back from vacation. For the record, Safety Tag is a very difficult sport to photograph.
  • Front.lift
    MORENCI student Dalton McCowan puts everything into a dead lift attempt Saturday morning during the Wyseguy Push/Pull event. Lifters helped raise more than $1,600 for the family of the late Devin Wyse, a former Morenci power-lifter who graduated last year. Commemorative T-shirts are still available by contacting teacher Dan Hoffman.
  • Front.library.books
    MACK DICKSON takes a book off the “blind date” cart at the Fayette library. Patrons can choose a book without knowing what’s inside other than a general category. The books are among those designated for removal so patrons can consider them gifts. In Morenci, new books and staff favorites were chosen from the stacks and must be returned. Patrons get a piece of chocolate, too, to take on their date, but no clue about their “date.” One reader said she really enjoyed her book for a few pages, but then lost interest—so typical for a blind date.

2010.08.04 Someone's in the kitchen with David

Written by David Green.

Who cooks for you all?

By COLLEEN LEDDY

I laughed aloud when I read a teaser on the front page of the Detroit Free Press a couple weeks ago.

I’m not really sure “teaser” is the correct word to describe the item I read...at the Observer we call them “reefers,” as in referring the reader to an inside page, and I’m always a little worried someone will walk in the office on a Tuesday when I yell something like, “Are the reefers done?” as we get close to deadline.

Whereas Observer reefers are tiny little photos with a few words of explanation letting you know of something particularly interesting in this week’s paper, the Free Press runs nice size photos with headlines, captions and a short synopsis of the story you’ll find in another section of the paper.

And this reefer headline read, “If you cook together, you’ll stay together.”

The headline alone brought on the laughter, but the synopsis only added to it:

“Do you spend a lot of time with your sweetie in the kitchen? It might be good for the two of you. A survey has found that couples who cook together view their relationship more positively than those who said they did not spend time together in the kitchen.”

My immediate thought was, we’re always lucky to make it out of the kitchen alive when we cook together. It’s probably a dangerous thing for me to wield a knife when David is thwarting my efforts by secretly turning down the flame on the onions or adding turmeric to the tofu.

The photo shows a wife preparing bruschetta for dinner as her husband looks on. It seems more like he’s keeping her company than actually cooking anything.

Flip to the Life section and you see the husband stirring vegetables in a wok as the wife leans toward him laughing about something. The photo looks a bit staged to me and not much like reality—not my reality anyway.

David and I are just not that highly evolved when it comes to sharing kitchen space. It’s a small kitchen and, invariably, whenever we’re in it together preparing one meal or another—which is just about every day—I’m always where David wants to be...which causes him to lament that I’m always in the way...which brings to mind the chorus of that tune, Father’s Whiskers.

Oh, they're always in the way,

The cows eat them for hay,

They hide the dirt on Daddy's shirt,

They're always in the way.

The song makes me smile, but to David it’s no laughing matter. He’s usually in a hurry.

“I just stand there, silently waiting, figuring eventually you’ll finish chopping, chopping, chopping or whatever you’re doing,” he says.

I was quizzing him about our kitchen interactions. I thought our culinary capers had improved over the days when his carrot peeling could send me into paroxysms of frustration. I think he does his carrot peeling in secret now, because I can’t really recall the last time I witnessed carrot heresy.

“Don’t you think we’re cooking better now?” I ask.

“Cooking better? Do you mean eating better? I don’t know what it means to cook better,” he says.

“I mean I don’t say anything now,” I explain.

I think I’ve improved dramatically, refraining from commenting when he does something that conflicts with my kitchen sensibilities such as how to wash leafy lettuce or cook brown rice.

But David hasn’t noticed any difference.

“You’re in that position where you have to do it yourself because everybody else does it wrong,” he observes.

Darn, I really thought I was getting better.

But he tosses a few examples my way to remind me of who I really am.

“The amount of mayonnaise I put in tuna, the balsamic vinegar I put in tuna...”

Oy, he’s right. I can’t abide it—not just the mayo: too much—or the vinegar: wrong kind (apple cider is best), but, the draining of the tuna water—he doesn’t squeeze enough out. He doesn’t take the lid completely off nor does he press down on the lid with all his strength to remove every last drop of water.

He’s brilliant at removing all the bones from smoked salmon and superb at mincing garlic, but his method of washing leafy lettuce leaves me wincing.

“I think I cooked you an egg once and you ate it,” he said. Was there a forlorn hint to his voice?

I don’t know how we’re still married.

If the way to a man’s heart is through his stomach, David must have ulcers.

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