Remember those old cartoons? Well for me, love is gutting and cleaning fish so that the husband doesn't have to deal with it. It's more a matter of self preservation; I don't want to listen to him gagging over fish guts and blood. Actually gutting the fish was the easy part, my father in law came over to help (he gutted 4, I gutted 3) and he got one to take home for his efforts. And really, cleaning fish is nothing compared to eviscerating chickens. The more difficult part was actually determining how to cut them up.
Our kitchen reminds me a little of Kitchen Stadium, but only in that the husband and I are always battling for supremacy, although neither of us are master chefs. He likes to remind me that he's worked in restaurants before, including one fine dining restaurant. I refrain from reminding him that that was many years ago and he was a bus boy at the upscale place. My experience on the other hand, is based on watching my mother cook, reading cookbooks (or more to the point, drooling over the pictures) and watching Food Network like it's going to save my life. So we both bring something to the (kitchen)table; he's more into beautiful presentations, I'm more inclined to have a main ingredient or theme running through each dish in the meal. If we could only learn to work together in the kitchen, we'd make beautiful meals together.