An Exotic Bird

Stepping up her weeknight supper game, Sam Woulidge tries to impress her husband, Jacques, with a cheat's Vietnamese chicken curry

- By Sam Woulidge

I was adamant that I had no interest in going out for drinks with Jacques’ colleagues. It was the Friday after a long week and I was feeling anxious and antisocial. Jacques was insistent. “I won’t be paraded around like some exotic parrot,” I argued defiantly, looking decidedly unexotic in my slouchy stretch-out-on-the-sofa pants. He looked at me in a contemplative manner. “You are not,” he told me in a measured tone, “nearly as exotic as you think you are.” I laughed.

He was right. Lately I am more exhausted than exotic. Still, I like to think my husband’s life would’ve been less exciting without me in it, but that doesn’t mean I’m always the prize. I have loved Jacques for 24 years. Some of those years have been glamorous and carefree, others have been sad and stressful, but mostly they’ve been happy and loving, even when they were complicated. But the parenting part of our lives together has been the most beautiful. We get that right. Mostly.

So that Friday we dropped Seb off at his cousin’s for a few hours and went for drinks.

And it was perfectly lovely. “So you’re a food writer? You must love cooking?” went the small talk. “Er, not so much,” the exotic parrot confessed, owning up that I only like cooking for special occasions, while Jacques is the better, more adventurous, everyday cook. He finds cooking relaxing. I don’t. Weekday stuff consists mostly of chicken, despite our family’s affection for red meat. So Jacques, who would prefer not to eat chicken schnitzels four times a week, has taken to making stir-fries. His sweet-and-sour chicken is deep-fried and delicious.