The perils of meal planning
Now that Ramadan is over and I’m not batch cooking protein-and-nutrient-rich meals to last throughout the long fasting day, it is back to the regular routine. Which means meal planning. I am trying to be organized and prep meals in advance, like all those parents I read about, with their ordered pantries and sensible diet decisions. When I ask my husband what we should eat for dinner this week, his reaction surprises me. “Where’s our meal calendar?” he asks, as if this is a perfectly normal discussion we have every week.
I do most of the cooking at home. Not because I am especially good at it, but because of schedule: I get home earlier. He and my two sons do most of the other chores, including bathrooms, vacuuming and laundry. Since cooking is my domain, I usually inform, not ask, the family about food decisions. But after a month of fasting, I’m feeling a little tapped out of meal ideas. Hence my ill advised couple huddle on the topic. So really, I have no one but myself to blame for what comes next.
“We need a system,” he says, and I know all bets are off.
My husband is a problem solver. It is simultaneously one of his best and worst qualities, depending on what mood I’m in.
Today I’m in a, ‘I have 100 errands to run today and making a quick grocery trip for meal ingredients is #75, so don’t start with me.’
Usually he’s pretty quick on the uptake, but today he has that unmistakable glint in his eyes. Years of experience have taught me that once my husband has decided to come up with a better “system,” there’s not much I can do to stop him.
The key to a harmonious marriage is knowing when to get out of your spouse’s way.
Besides, I’m trying to be a more calm and patient person (one of my Ramadan resolutions) so I don’t roll my eyes or sigh. Instead I reach for a piece of paper and quickly draw a weekly meal calendar for breakfast, lunch (kid and adult versions) and dinner.
“Why are you writing on a piece of paper?” he asks, appalled.
I look down at the back of the school flyer I had just scribbled on. “… Because I believe in GOOS paper?”
But he has already disappeared upstairs, to find his laptop. “We need to come up with a library of meals,” he says when I follow him a few minutes later. He is seated at his desk, Microsoft Excel open on the screen, busily entering meal data into a downloaded template. Be still my beating heart.
My never-ending list of chores foremost in my mind, I leave him to it. Another key to a harmonious marriage is to let the most talented person do the job. Which is how I got out of laundry duty.
A few hours later, a few dozen items crossed off my checklist, I wander past his desk.
The spreadsheet is a thing of beauty, multi-coloured and multi-layered. He shows me the drop-down menu options, inputted from a master meal library.
“We can cross reference ingredients and come up with a grocery list,” he says, his voice excited. Until he spots my smirk. “You’re laughing at me.”
Patient. Calm. Supportive. I give him a hug. “This is awesome. But can we please just decide on the meals for the week? I need to take Mustafa to buy a pair of baseball cleats because his feet have grown three sizes since last season.”
We hash out the week’s menu in five minutes, and he inputs our selection in to the beautiful Excel spreadsheet I know we will never use again.
Efficient and organized, that’s the Jalaluddin-Merchant household. At least for this week.
The spreadsheet is a thing of beauty, multicoloured and multi-layered. He shows me the drop-down menu options