My Husband Made a Menu and Demands That I Cook Him Meals from It Every Day

Sarah thought her marriage was rock solid until the night she discovered a gourmet menu on the fridge, demanding she cook extravagant meals after exhausting days at work. The ensuing confrontation revealed deep cracks in their relationship, sparking a heated argument that left them both reeling.

I had always prided myself on my work ethic. As a successful project manager at a bustling tech firm, I often worked late hours and brought home projects on weekends. Despite my demanding job, I still managed to keep the household running smoothly. I juggled chores, groceries, and occasional dinners with friends.

Tom, my husband, had a stable job as an accountant. He worked regular hours, rarely had to stay late, and had weekends off. Yet, he often complained about being tired and stressed. I didn't mind taking on a bit more; I loved Tom and was committed to our marriage.

But that day, it went too far. I returned home after another grueling day at the office, my shoulders aching from the weight of my responsibilities.

As I dropped my bag by the door, I noticed something unusual on the fridge. A neatly typed menu was stuck 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 meals, 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, yet he was expecting me to come home and whip up these elaborate dishes.

My initial anger simmered down to a cold determination. I picked up my phone and texted Tom.

"What's with this menu on the fridge? Are you serious about me cooking all this?"

Tom's reply came quickly. "Yeah, I thought it would be nice to have some structure and variety in our meals. You're such a good cook, and I think you can handle 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 the way he expected.

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

An hour later, Tom walked in, whistling a tune. "Hey, Sarah," he called out cheerfully.

"Hey," 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 glanced at it and then back at me, still looking confused. "What about it?"

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

He shrugged. "I just thought it would be nice to have some variety. Your cooking is always on top, and I thought you'd enjoy it."

"Enjoy it?" I echoed, incredulous. "I barely have time to eat, let alone cook gourmet meals."

Tom frowned. "I didn't think it would be such a big deal."

"Well, it is," I snapped. "I'm exhausted, Tom. I need help, not more work."

He looked taken aback. "I'm sorry, Sarah. I didn't realize."

I shook my head. "No, you didn't. And that's the problem."

Tom's frown deepened. "So now it's my fault you're overworked? I just wanted to eat better, Sarah. Is that so wrong?"

I felt my frustration boiling over. "Wanting to eat better isn't wrong, but expecting me to do everything is! I'm not a machine, Tom."

"I never said you were," he replied, his voice rising. "But you're acting like I do nothing around here. I work too, you know."

"Yeah, you work regular hours and come home to relax. I work late, bring projects home, and still manage the house. How is that fair?"

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

I glared at him. "I want you to recognize how much I do and pitch in more. It's not about quitting your job; it's about sharing responsibilities."

"Responsibilities?" Tom scoffed. "I handle 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 grind I go through. Cooking gourmet meals is just another unrealistic expectation."

Tom's face reddened. "Fine, maybe I don't see everything. But you don't appreciate what I do either. You make it sound like I'm useless."

I clenched my fists, trying to keep my voice steady. "I'm asking for partnership, Tom. Not for you to feel useless. Why is that so hard for you to understand?"

"Maybe because you're always on edge," he shot back. "It's like nothing I do is good enough for you."

"Because you're not listening!" I shouted. "I'm drowning here, and all you see is your perfect little menu. It's not about the food; it's about feeling supported."

Tom stood up, his chair scraping loudly against the floor. "I'm done with this conversation. I need some 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 keep our lives running smoothly. And I had to figure out how to make him understand without losing my mind in the process.

This was just the beginning.

The next few days, I went about my usual routine, but with a new plan in mind. I made a few calls and arranged everything perfectly. When Friday came, Tom walked through the door to the delicious aroma of a 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."

Tom took a bite and sighed contentedly. "This is fantastic. You know, if I didn't make you do it, you'd never discover this talent. But, if I'm being honest, the beef could be a little more tender."

At that moment, a man in a chef's uniform emerged from the kitchen. "Is there something wrong with the beef, sir?" he asked, his tone polite but firm.

Tom's fork froze halfway to his mouth. "Who are you?" he stammered.

I leaned 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...you did what?"

"I work long hours, manage the household, and now you expect me to cook gourmet meals every day? I thought you could use a lesson in what it takes to put together a meal like this. Chef Martin is an expert, and even he can't make the beef perfect every time. Maybe now you'll appreciate what I do a bit more."

Chef Martin smiled and nodded. "It's not easy, sir. Cooking these dishes takes a lot of skill and time."

Tom sat back, 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 consider 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 both can manage."

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

After reading this article, our readers had mixed opinions. Bic Ush, our Top fan, wrote, "I used to cook everyday for my late husband ... I made menu make sure I have Spaghetti or beef stew etc that he can have leftover to enjoy the next day ."

Other, however, were not so kind on Tom. Vickie Hand Root wrote, "I laughed at my husband when he demanded I do something. If he wants something done or cooked he has two hands and can do it himself." She did note that being asked nicely makes "a big difference."

Tommi Peel, our other Top fan, suggested taking the note down and put up her own with expected salary. She also advised to make cooking her only chore, with her husband taking up the rest. "Let him know, if he was going to demand a big meal as such for breakfast, lunch and dinner, and treat you like the help, he has to compensate you for your work!"

Tara Duncan-Neasloss also went pretty hard on Tom. "You are his wife, not his slave, nor are you a restaurant or cafe," she boldly stated.

Others loved Sarah's solution and even told about their own compromises. Brigitte Hentges wrote, "If my husband wants something special, he suggests that we go out to eat." They also split the chores around cooking. Jeannette Harris confessed that she should have thought of hiring a chef "years ago" as she has run out of ideas for different meals.

Veris White Likely shared the touching reason she never faced the same problem with her husband. "My husband would have never made such a request, his only request was, I be a stay at home mom, wife," she reminisced, "he would order whatever me and the children wanted to eat on Friday, grocery shopping on Saturday, eat take out, share cooking Sunday dinner..."

My Stepmom Kicked Me Out After I Stopped Cooking for Her and Her Kids—but Karma Struck Back Instantly

In the wake of personal loss, sixteen-year-old Julia discovers the trials of managing a household's culinary needs under her stepmom's critical eye. When her passion for cooking clashes with relentless family criticism, will Julia find a recipe for reconciliation or will the kitchen conflicts reach a boiling point?

Ever since my dad passed away, life has been a rollercoaster. Now, I'm living with my stepmom, Cathy, and her two kids, my stepsiblings, Martha and Frank. It's been an adjustment, not just emotionally but in all the everyday things too.

My name is Julia, I'm 16, and like any other teen, I'm juggling high school and household chores. But there's one chore that’s not just a task for me—it's my passion: cooking.

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

It wasn't long before Cathy noticed my knack for cooking and decided that I could extend this 'little hobby' to cooking for the entire family. At first, I was on board. I thought, why not share this love with everyone?

Click here to read the rest of the story.

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

The author and publisher make no claims to the accuracy of events or the portrayal of characters and are not liable for any misinterpretation. This story is provided “as is,” and any opinions expressed are those of the characters and do not reflect the views of the author or publisher.