“I Spent All Day Cooking, But Instead of Praise, My Husband Criticized Me in Front of Our Family”: My Husband is a Professional Chef

It was a chilly Sunday morning in November when I decided to surprise my family with a special dinner. My husband, Vincent, had been working tirelessly at his restaurant, and I wanted to give him a night off to relax with our family. Cooking isn’t my forte, but I’ve been learning and was eager to show Vincent my progress.

I planned the menu carefully: roast chicken with a garlic and herb rub, creamy mashed potatoes, and steamed green beans. Simple, yet comforting. I started early, wanting everything to be perfect. Vincent was at the restaurant for a brunch service and wouldn’t be home until mid-afternoon.

As the hours passed, the kitchen filled with the aromas of roasting chicken and herbs. I followed all the tips Vincent had given me over the months: I basted the chicken every twenty minutes, cooked the potatoes at a rolling boil before mashing them to creamy perfection, and used just a touch of butter to finish the green beans.

By the time Vincent walked through the door, the table was set, and dinner was nearly ready. Our children, Brian and Isabella, played quietly, anticipating their father’s approval of the meal. I was nervous but hopeful.

Vincent greeted everyone warmly but paused as he entered the kitchen. His eyes scanned the dishes laid out on the counter. I couldn’t read his expression and felt a flutter of anxiety.

“Dinner looks wonderful, Eva,” he said, but his tone was flat. My heart sank a little, but I smiled and ushered everyone to the table.

As we began to eat, the room was unusually quiet. Vincent tasted each dish thoughtfully, his brow furrowed. Finally, he set down his fork and looked at me. “The chicken is overcooked,” he said, his voice loud enough for everyone to hear. “And the potatoes could have used a bit more seasoning. It’s important to taste as you go.”

I felt my cheeks burn with embarrassment. Our children glanced between us, sensing the tension. “I’m sorry,” I murmured, my appetite gone. “I thought it turned out well.”

Vincent sighed. “Cooking is about precision, Eva. It’s not just a hobby for me; it’s my career. I just wish you could take it a bit more seriously.”

The rest of the meal passed in silence. I cleared the dishes, feeling the sting of tears in my eyes. I had spent all day trying to make something special, only to be criticized in front of our children.

That night, as Vincent and I lay in bed, the space between us felt wider than ever. I realized that no matter how much I tried, I might never meet his standards. And worse, his blunt critique had not only spoiled our dinner but had also created a rift between us that felt too deep to mend.