Musings of a Punk Rock Father

Tonight I went to White Fence Farm to pick up chicken for the family dinner. As I waited for a man to get into the car parked next to me, he looked up and quite angrily pronounced, "No one cooks anymore, just so you know."

He had a giant "Greece" knick-knack of some sort hanging from his rear-view mirror, so I thought maybe he was mad because his Greek wife refuses to cook for him like he thinks she should. I mean, I've seen "My Big Fat Greek Wedding," so I know that Greek women cook for their Greek men, right?

Then I though maybe he was upset at me. My generation, we don't cook. We eat out. We eat fast food. Except that we don't eat out all the time; at least my family doesn't. It would be pretty irrational if he were mada at me. But he did seem irate, although I couldn't tell with whom he was irate.

So what would make someone give this short proclamation to a stranger standing with a bag of chicken and various delectable side dishes?