My husband made a menu and demands that I cook with it every day

I had always prided myself on my work ethic. As a successful project manager at a bustling tech company, I often worked late and took projects home on weekends. Despite my demanding job, I managed to keep the household running smoothly. I juggled housework, grocery shopping, and the occasional dinner out with friends.

Tom, my husband, had a steady job as an accountant. He kept regular hours, rarely had to stay late, and had weekends off. However, he often complained of being tired and stressed. I didn’t mind taking on a little more; I loved him very much and was committed to our marriage.

But that day I went too far. I was returning home after another exhausting day at the office, my shoulders aching from the weight of my responsibilities.

As I set the bag down by the door, I noticed something odd in the fridge. A neatly typed menu was attached to it with a magnet, and a handwritten note in Tom’s familiar scrawl read, “Cook it today.”

I glanced at the menu and felt my blood pressure rise. It listed gourmet dishes, each more complex than the last: Beef Wellington, Coq au Vin, Lobster Thermidor. I couldn’t believe my eyes. I worked longer hours than Tom, and he expected me to come home and prepare these elaborate dishes.

My initial anger reduced to cold determination. I picked up the phone and sent a message to Tom.

“What’s this menu in the fridge for? Do you really want me to cook all this?”

Tom’s response was not long in coming. “Yeah, I thought it would be nice to have some structure and variety in our meals. You’re a very good cook and I think you’ll be able to do it. Let me know how it goes.”

I couldn’t believe his nonchalant response. If Tom wanted gourmet meals, he would get them, but not in the way he expected.

I took a deep breath, trying to calm myself. This was too much. I decided to confront him when I got home.

An hour later, Tom came in whistling a tune. “Hello, Sarah,” he called out cheerfully.

“Hi,” I replied, my voice icy. “We need to talk.”

He looked at me, puzzled. “About what?”

I pointed to the fridge. “About this menu.”

Tom looked at him and then back at me, still confused. “What’s wrong with him?”

“You expect me to cook all these meals after working all day?” I asked, raising my voice. “I barely have time to breathe, Tom.”

He shrugged. “I just thought it would be nice to have some variety. Your cooking isn’t always up to par, and I thought you might like my suggestions.”

“Enjoy?” I repeated, incredulous. “I barely have time to eat, let alone cook gourmet meals.”

Tom frowned. “I didn’t think it would be that big of a deal.”

“Well, it is,” I snapped. “I’m exhausted, Tom. I need help, not more work.”

He looked surprised. “I’m sorry, Sarah. I didn’t realize.”

I shook my head. “No, you didn’t notice. And that’s the problem.”

Tom frowned. “So now it’s my fault that you’re working too much? I just wanted to eat better, Sarah. Is that so bad?”

I felt my frustration boiling over. “Wanting to eat better isn’t bad, but expecting me to do everything is! I’m not a machine, Tom.”

“I never said you were,” he replied, raising his voice. “But you act like I don’t do anything here. I work too, you know.”

“Yes, you work regular hours and come home to relax. I work late, bring projects home, and still take care of the house. How is that fair?”

Tom threw up his hands in exasperation. “So what do you want me to do, Sarah? Quit work? Stay home and cook all day?”

I glared at him. “I want you to acknowledge how much I do and to pitch in more. This isn’t about quitting your job; it’s about sharing responsibilities.”

“Responsibilities?” Tom scoffed. “I take care of the bills, the yard work, the car maintenance. You think that’s nothing?”

“I’m not saying it’s nothing,” I replied, my voice shaking with anger. “But it’s not everything. You don’t see the daily work I have to do. Cooking gourmet meals is just another unrealistic expectation.”

Tom blushed. “Okay, I may not see everything. But you don’t appreciate what I do either. You make me sound like I’m useless.”

I clenched my fists, trying to keep my voice steady. “I’m asking for your cooperation, Tom. I’m not saying you’re useless. Why is it so hard for you to understand?”

“Maybe because you’re always on the edge,” he replied. “It’s like nothing I do is ever good enough for you.”

“Because you won’t listen to me!” I screamed. “I’m drowning here, and all you see is your perfect menu. It’s not about the food; it’s about feeling supported.”

Tom stood up, his chair clattering to the floor. “I’m done with this conversation. I need some fresh air.”

We stood there for a moment, but I knew this conversation wasn’t over. Tom had a lot to learn about what it took to make our lives work well. And I had to figure out how to make him understand it without losing my mind in the process.

This was just the beginning.

The next few days I continued with my usual routine, but with a new plan in mind. I made some calls and got everything organized to perfection. When Friday came, Tom walked through the door to the delicious aroma of perfectly cooked Beef Wellington.

“Wow, this looks amazing!” Tom exclaimed as he sat down at the table.

I smiled sweetly, hiding my true intentions. “I’m glad you like it. I thought I’d start with your favorite dish.”

Tom took a bite and sighed with satisfaction. “This is fantastic. If I hadn’t forced you to do it, you would never discover this talent. But, if I’m honest, the meat could be a little more tender.”

At that moment, a man in a chef’s uniform came out of the kitchen. “Is something wrong with the beef, sir?” he asked, in a polite but firm tone.

Tom’s fork froze halfway to his mouth. “Who are you?” he stammered.

I sat back, enjoying the scene. “This is Chef Martin. I hired him to cook this dinner. And I paid him with the money you were saving for your new car.”

Tom’s face turned several shades of red as he struggled to find words. “You… did what?”

“I work long hours, and I take care of the house, and now you expect me to cook gourmet meals every day? I thought it might be good for you to know what it takes to prepare a meal like this. Chef Martin is an expert, and even he can’t make the perfect steak every time. Maybe now you’ll appreciate what I do a little more.”

Chef Martin smiled and nodded. “It’s not easy, sir. Cooking these dishes requires a lot of skill and time.”

Tom sat down, his arrogance deflated. “I’m sorry, Sarah. I didn’t realize how unfair I was being. I thought it would be nice to have these meals, but I didn’t take into account how much work it would be for you.”

My expression softened slightly. “I’m glad you understand. Next time, let’s make a meal plan together that we can make together.”

They finished their meal with a newfound respect for each other. From that day on, Tom never made a fussy menu again, and they took turns cooking, creating simple but delicious meals together.

After reading this article, our readers had mixed opinions. Bic Ush, our biggest fan, wrote : “I used to cook for my late husband every day… I would make the menu making sure I had spaghetti or beef stew etc so he could enjoy the leftovers the next day.”

Others, however, were not so kind to Tom. Vickie Hand Root wrote : “I used to laugh at my husband when he demanded that I do something. If he wants me to make or cook something, he has two hands and can do it himself .” She noted that asking him nicely makes “a huge difference.”

Tommi Peel, our other Top fan, suggested taking note and putting her own with the expected salary. She also advised making cooking your only task, with your husband doing the rest. “Let him know that if he’s going to demand a big meal from you for breakfast, lunch and dinner, and treat you like the maid, he needs to compensate you for your work!”

Tara Duncan-Neasloss was also very harsh with Tom. “You are his wife, not his slave, nor are you a restaurant or a coffee shop ,” she stated boldly.

Others loved Sarah’s solution and even shared their own compromises. Brigitte Hentges wrote : “If my husband wants something special, I suggest we go out to eat.” They also share tasks around the kitchen. Jeannette Harris confessed that she should have thought about hiring a chef “years ago” as she has run out of ideas for different meals.

Veris White Likely shared the poignant reason she never faced the same problem with her husband. “My husband would never have made such a request of me, all he asked of me was to be a stay-at-home mom, a wife,” she recalled, “order whatever the kids and I wanted to eat on Friday, do the grocery shopping on Saturday, order takeout, share in the preparation of Sunday dinner…”

My stepmother kicked me out of the house when I stopped cooking for her and her children — But karma struck back instantly

Following a personal loss, sixteen-year-old Julia discovers the difficulties of managing the culinary needs of a household under the critical eye of her stepmother. When her passion for cooking collides with the family’s relentless criticism, will Julia find a recipe for reconciliation or will the conflicts in the kitchen reach a boiling point?

Since my father passed away, life has been a roller coaster. I now live with my stepmother, Cathy, and her two children, my step-siblings, Martha and Frank. It has been an adjustment, not just emotionally but in all the day-to-day things.

My name is Julia, I am 16 years old and, like any teenager, I combine school with household chores. But there is one task that is not just a task for me: it is my passion: cooking.

I started taking cooking seriously about three years ago, finding solace and joy in creating meals just for myself. It was my own little world where I could experiment and escape.

Cathy soon noticed my cooking skills and decided that I could extend this “little hobby” to cooking for the whole family. At first, I was all for it. I thought, why not share this love with everyone?

Click here to read the rest of the story.

This work is inspired by real people and events, but has been fictionalized for creative purposes. Names, characters, and details have been changed to protect privacy and enhance the narrative. Any resemblance to real people, living or dead, or real events is purely coincidental and not intended by the author.

The author and publisher do not guarantee the accuracy of events or the depiction of characters, and are not responsible for any misinterpretation. This story is provided “as is,” and the opinions expressed are those of the characters and do not reflect the views of the author or publisher.

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