THE VOICE OF CHICAGO'S GAY, LESBIAN, BI, TRANS AND QUEER COMMUNITY SINCE 1985

Of course I consulted with 'the sistah gurls' for their femme perspectives on the topic. After presenting my views supported by evidence to these ladies, they quickly concluded that I was on some B.S.! As expected, they're always so nice to me. After a half-hour of debating the issue with them, I sensed some violent tension. To prevent being hit by a purse or shoe, I pulled out a survey I'd prepared earlier for each to fill out. Later, as I went over their completed surveys, it was clear that they still didn't understand my point; none of them knew how to prepare smothered chicken or pork chops; pot roast with gravy; potatoes and carrot; fresh green beans with potatoes and sweet meat; cabbage; meat loaf; and the most important, chicken soup from scratch. Everyone benefits from chicken soup when he or she is ill. Eventually, we all sat down again to discuss the topic more rationally ( pocketbooks no longer a threat to my head ) .

After posing my question again, a sistah suggested that younger wimyn aren't pressured by gender roles like baby-boomers were, to learn how to cook from scratch. Another sistah suggested that I was still on some B.S., but added that maybe it was the type of womyn I dated that influenced my thinking. However, she also felt that ultra femme wimyn were too 'cute' to be confined to the kitchen; 'They prefer to be pampered,' she said. But, she's wrong; I've dated all types of wimyn and had this problem across the board; 80 percent of them couldn't throw-down. I complain because I grew tired of consuming unhealthful foods, prepared by femmes. When you eat that stuff, you're eating an abundance of artery-clogging fats, fattening carbohydrates, tons of chemical preservatives and an overdose of sodium. All eventually will catch up with you and present health problems. The sistahs agreed that lots of wimyn do in fact rely too much on the convenience of fast food or pre-packaged foods. 'Nobody wants to live in the kitchen,' the meanest one snapped. I'll stop here because the argument returned to stud bashing and I took cover.

My perspective on this culinary issue stands until someone proves me wrong; with few exceptions ( like my wife, of course—Hi babe! ) , butch/studs rule the kitchen.

E-mail vickynabors@hotmail.com