EVERYONE’S a restaurant critic now.
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Even when they’re nowhere near a restaurant and simply judging what others are dishing up for dinner on a Monday night.
Mondays are hard; we go meat-free on the first day of the working week, generally pesto pasta with Parmesan or vegetable bake to ease our way back into the routine. By Tuesday it’s all about beef tacos, Fridays are for fish, and weekends are for slow-roasted lamb shoulder or brisket. (Feel free to judge; everyone’s doing it!)
Followers of media personality Jess Rowe’s #craphousewife Instagram feed, like me, take comfort in her laissez-faire approach to family meal-times.
Her typical posts go something along the lines of:
Today is Sunday. Sunday is for sausages.
Today is Wednesday. Wednesday is chicken wings.
Her honest and down-to-earth attitude to dinner must surely resonate with busy parents doing the best they can in between work, school and sport commitments and social and family engagements.
When Rowe posted a picture of chicken and baked potatoes for Monday night dinner earlier this month, food critics came from every corner of Instagram.
There were the green police.
Where had all the broccoli gone?
There was a Lebanese cucumber on the edge of the photo, though not on any of the plates.
There were the plastic police.
Why on earth had she bought a cucumber wrapped in plastic?
I pick up a fruit and vegetable box most weeks – in which the cucumber is not wrapped – however, if we run out in between pick-ups and we have to buy a cucumber at a supermarket, it’s not guaranteed you’ll find one plastic-free.
Back to the post, there were the cordial police.
The Cottee’s Lemon Crush in the photo really was the last straw for the normally nice folk of Instagram.
Water is always better. (I noticed this comment evaporated when someone thought better of it later!)
Finally, there were table police.
Jess, love your honesty hon. But please please I hope you guys are eating around the table too. It may be old fashioned but you can’t beat it for getting everyone together, contributing to family discussion, learning table manners, teaching the girls how to set a table properly, so many happy times around the family table. Come on, you can be the crap housewife, we all can. But don’t be #thelazyhousewife. Tomorrow nights pic? At the table? Yaay!!
Whoa Judge Judy! Firstly, learn how to spell yay!! Secondly, blah! #justblah My family always sits to the table each night, in part because I’m a #craphousewife and don’t enjoy vacuuming. However, every family is free to do whatever works best for them, right!? Hon!
Whoa Judge Judy! Firstly, learn how to spell yay!! The Urban Dictionary doesn’t count either. Secondly, blah! #justblah My family always sits to the table each night, in part because I’m a #craphousewife and don’t enjoy vacuuming. However, every family is free to do whatever works best for them, right!? Hon!
The overzealous responses to this simple dinner post gave me indigestion.
Most parents are simply doing their best to feed their kids and get them through school.
Running late for the school bus pick-up two days in a row last week, I was early on the third attempt.
Third-time lucky? No. I had worked from home on account of having a head cold, meaning I was only three blocks away and didn’t run into traffic problems going between Wodonga and Albury.
“Look at me over-achieving!” I say to our eight-year-old as she gets in the car.
“I’m on time today!”
Deadpan, she says: “On time, but in your dressing grown!!”
(To be clear, I was wearing black high heels, black 7/8 pants and a demin shirt with a navy and white striped, zip-up dressing gown thrown over the top to keep out the chills.)
“I could totally get away with this look downtown,” I suggest to her.
Her reply: “You think?!!”
Perhaps there’s a place for #crapuberdrivers of Instagram.
There’d be fashion police and road rage everywhere!