The worst part of being a grown-up is coming up with a family meal each evening

My blue plastic shopping basket drops to the floor; it’s impossible to keep holding it and the wobbly stack of cookbooks in my arms. The commotion I’m making has put an end to my subtle attempts to rearrange the in-store display of colourful cookbooks conveniently located next to the kitchen utensils and martini glasses.

A woman pushing a shopping trolley stacked with cream-coloured bouclé cushions raises her eyebrows at me.

Self-described “Crap Housewife” Jessica Rowe on The Cook Up with Adam Liaw.Credit: SBS

“I’m just making sure you can see my cookbook!” I tell her.

I apologise to Adam Liaw as I put my book over the top of his newest. Adam has been generous with advice over the years and recently showed me the secrets to a non-soggy stir-fry on his show The Cook Up. So Adam knows that my below-par cooking skills need some help and self-promotion.

I turn to the cushion lady: “Did you know that I’m a proud Crap Housewife, but somehow I have my own cookbook thanks to the wizards at the Women’s Weekly?” This boast is lost on her, but not on my teenage daughter, who I’ve dragged along to capture the proud moment by taking some pictures on my phone.

“Mum, I don’t want to do this – hurry up,” she says while I pose with my cookbook. “And why are you making those faces?”

Jars, packets and microwave rice are my pantry companions. Mince is on regular rotation in our household. I believe cereal is a legitimate dinner option.

JESSICA ROWE

Because this is a significant moment. If you know me, you know that cookbooks and I don’t usually mix. I forget to put salt in the water when I cook pasta. Jars, packets and microwave rice are my friendly pantry companions. Mince is on regular rotation in our household. I believe cereal is a legitimate dinner option. Canned spaghetti on white toast is a perfect Sunday night meal.

Our smoke alarm goes off weekly and my nachos are especially hazardous because whenever I put them under the grill to melt the cheese, baking paper ends up catching fire.

Food is glorious, but the cooking part has never been my strength. Sadly for everyone, though, because no one else in our family cooks, that tedious job is mine every night. For me, the most disappointing part of being a grown-up is having to come up with a family meal each evening.

So when those doyennes of culinary inspiration for Aussie families at The Australian Womens’ Weekly approached me about putting my name to a cookbook, it was a moment to remember.

We met in their iconic offices overlooking busy Park Street, in the heart of Sydney. Written in my spiral notebook was a wish list of favourite dishes and a shopping list of regular ingredients.

“It needs to have lots of mince, packets and jars,” I tell the editors. “And sugar, lots of sugar. Caramel slice, coconut ice… Oh, and a cat cake! Not for cats to eat, but for humans!”

“Of course we can do that,” says Sophia, the woman charged with turning all this into real recipes. “Let me come up with some ideas and we’ll get cooking.”

A few weeks later we’re in a studio, shooting the images for the cookbook. I’m getting cramps in my hand as I slowly rotate a glamorous-looking taco to make sure the photographer can get the best angle of the lettuce and cheese. Brightly coloured chunky cocktail rings are not just a perfect match for my pastel French manicure, they showcase the golden taco shell balanced on my fingers.

Next up, my hand modelling is being challenged by the beauty of a baked bean toastie (I’ve never seen baked beans look this fabulous!). Nearby, a talented chef is preparing trays of caramel slices and delicately placing musk-stick whiskers on the pale-pink iced cat cake. Here I can see the joy of cooking come to life.

Later, back at the in-store display, flicking through the pages of my book, I laugh when I see how magnificent the mince looks in the taco. I make sure my cookbook is at eye level on the shelves so that shoppers can’t miss them when they walk past.

I also know which cake I’ll be making for my birthday this year. But let’s be clear – “make” is a generous term: my tome suggests buying a pre-baked cake and cutting it into the shape of a cat. Now that’s what I call a cookbook!

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