We Had a Baby and My Husband Had to Learn to Cook — Life in the Kitchen

The sole contents of my husband's fridge when we met were peanut butter, ketchup, and a loaf of bread. There were no half-used jars of curry paste or even crusted-over bottles of Newman's Own salad dressing. It struck me, even as a person who hadn't yet learned to cook much beyond making stir-fries and boiling water, as odd.

I, too, was a single young person who took more meals at happy hour than at the couch and TV tray that served as my kitchen table at the time. But at least my fridge had nubbins of cheese, the dying carcasses of romaine lettuce, and other assorted detritus of a person capable of feeding herself.

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