“If Everything I Cook Tastes Bad to You, Then Cook for Yourselves,” the Daughter-in-Law Said
— When are you going to make dinner? Platon will be home soon, and Zoya will be here any minute. There’s nothing cooking at all, — Valentina Yuryevna said, standing in the bedroom doorway.
Arina barely looked up from her laptop.
She had returned from work later than usual, changed clothes, and walked straight past the kitchen. For the first time in years, she had not opened the refrigerator, checked the vegetables, or thought about what four people would eat.
— I’m not cooking today, — she said calmly.
Her mother-in-law stared at her.
— What do you mean?
— Exactly that.
— Then what are we supposed to eat?
Arina turned toward her.
— The refrigerator is in the kitchen. So is the stove. If you’re hungry, choose something and cook it.
Valentina Yuryevna frowned.
— I’m a guest.
— You’ve been a guest for three weeks.
Until August, only Arina and Platon had lived in the three-room apartment, which belonged to Arina. Her parents had given it to her before marriage.
Their life had always been simple. Both worked, both cooked, and both cleaned. If Platon came home first, he might make pasta or roast chicken. Arina would prepare a salad. On other days she cooked while he washed the dishes. When both were tired, they ordered food.
Everything changed when Platon’s younger sister, Zoya, broke up with her boyfriend.
The apartment she had shared with him belonged to him, so she asked to stay with her brother.
— A week, maybe ten days, — Platon promised. — She’s already looking for another apartment.
Arina agreed.
Zoya arrived with two suitcases and thanked them repeatedly.
— I really won’t stay long.
For the first two days, she did search for apartments.
Then she slowly stopped.
Three days later, Platon’s mother arrived too.
— I can’t leave Zoya alone after what happened. I’ll stay a few days and support her.
But Zoya hardly looked devastated. She went to work, watched television, met friends, and spent evenings on her phone.
Still, Arina said nothing.
At first, she cooked dinner for everyone simply because she was already cooking for herself and Platon.
Soon, however, mother and daughter began treating this as normal.
Zoya returned from work and immediately relaxed on the sofa. Valentina Yuryevna spent her days watching television or talking on the phone.
Neither contributed much to groceries.
During ten days, Zoya bought cookies, mineral water, and grapes. Her mother bought bread, milk, and sour cream once.
Everything else appeared because Arina stopped at the supermarket after work.
Then the criticism began.
One evening, Arina served roasted meat.
Valentina Yuryevna tasted it and shook her head.
— A little dry.
— Maybe. I left it in too long.
— I always cook mine fifteen minutes less. Then it stays tender.
The next evening, Arina made fish and rice with vegetables.
Zoya tried the rice.
— It’s too simple. I would have made a sauce.
Arina looked at her.
— Make one tomorrow.
Zoya laughed.
— Me? I’m exhausted after work.
The next morning, Arina overheard them talking in the kitchen.
— She really doesn’t know how to feed a family properly, — her mother-in-law said. — Everything is rushed.
— Platon seems fine with it, — Zoya replied.
— He has nothing to compare it with.
When Arina entered, both women immediately became silent.
That evening, Arina spoke to her husband.
— Are you okay with your mother and sister criticizing my food every day?
Platon smiled.
— Ignore them. You know Mom.
— I don’t want to ignore them. I want you to talk to them.
— Fine, I will.
— Today.
Platon sighed.
— Why make a big issue out of it? Mom will leave soon. Zoya will find an apartment. Just be patient.
But those promised “few days” became three weeks.
Worse, Platon himself stopped cooking.
One evening, Arina arrived home and saw him standing near the stove.
Valentina Yuryevna looked horrified.
— What are you doing?
— Making dinner.
— With three women in the house?
Platon laughed.
— Are women automatically cooks?
— You’ve worked all day.
— So has Arina.
Zoya immediately joined in.
— Brother, go relax. We’ll handle it.
Arina became curious.
Who exactly would handle it?
A moment later, Zoya called to her.
— Arina, we decided on pasta. Will you make it?
— You just said you would handle it.
— I meant together.
— Great. Start. I’ll change clothes.
When Arina returned, Zoya was sitting with her phone again.
— I got everything ready.
A closed packet of pasta lay on the counter.
That was when Arina realized how comfortable everyone had become.
She now woke earlier because Valentina Yuryevna believed a man needed a “proper breakfast.”
She carried groceries home after work and spent another hour cooking.
Meanwhile, her mother-in-law lifted saucepan lids and commented:
— More onion would be better.
Or:
— I wouldn’t use carrots here.
Zoya recommended different sauces, spices, and salads.
Neither ever said, “I’ll cook tonight.”
The final straw came on Tuesday.
Arina had endured a long meeting, project problems, and urgent paperwork. She reached home almost at nine.
The kitchen was spotless.
Valentina Yuryevna had been home for hours.
Zoya was home.
Platon was home.
— I’m starving, — her husband said.
Arina stared at him.
— Why didn’t anyone cook?
— We were waiting for you.
Those words changed something inside her.
Not “we didn’t have time.”
Not “we didn’t know what to make.”
They had simply waited for her.
She still cooked because she was hungry herself.
She roasted chicken thighs, made potatoes, and prepared salad.
At the table, Valentina Yuryevna tasted the meat.
— I would never serve this at home.
Arina slowly looked up.
— What’s wrong with it?
— The spices. And the meat is bland.
Zoya nodded.
— The potatoes aren’t great either.
Then Platon smirked.
That smirk hurt more than anything else.
He knew how late Arina had returned.
He knew his mother and sister had done nothing.
Yet he sat there enjoying the discussion.
Arina pushed back her plate.
— Since everything I cook tastes bad to you, from today on, cook for yourselves.
Zoya blinked.
— We were only giving our opinion.
— I heard your opinion.
Valentina Yuryevna scoffed.
— Are you offended by every comment now?
— I’m not offended. I’m giving you the opportunity to show me how it should be done.
Platon followed Arina into the bedroom.
— Seriously? You’re causing drama over potatoes?
— The drama has been happening for three weeks. I’m ending it.
— They’re guests.
— Then cook for your guests.
The next morning, Arina made coffee, ate yogurt and fruit, and left.
Her mother-in-law looked at the empty stove.
— What about Platon’s breakfast?
— He can make one.
That evening, Arina bought prepared food for herself only.
Platon opened the refrigerator.
— What am I supposed to eat?
— There are eggs, meat, vegetables, cheese. Choose something.
He looked at his mother and sister.
— Didn’t you make anything?
— I had things to do, — Valentina Yuryevna said.
— I just got home, — Zoya added.
Arina smiled.
— You’ve spent three weeks explaining how cooking should be done. Time to use that knowledge.
Platon quietly fried eggs.
The next day, everyone still expected Arina to surrender.
She did not.
Zoya ordered delivery.
Platon bought prepared food.
Valentina Yuryevna complained about the cost.
— For that money, you could cook for two days.
— Then cook, — Arina replied.
On the third day, Zoya finally announced:
— I’ll make dinner tonight.
She arrived with groceries and opened a recipe on her phone.
Forty minutes later, she discovered the meat should have been thawed earlier.
Then she realized several ingredients were missing and sent Platon back to the supermarket.
The kitchen soon filled with dirty dishes and packaging.
Finally, after nearly two hours, dinner was ready.
Platon tasted the meat.
— A little dry.
Zoya immediately glared at him.
— Don’t you dare.
Arina smiled.
— The salad could be more interesting too.
Zoya stared at her, then laughed.
— Fine. I understand now.
The next day, Valentina Yuryevna decided to prove that cooking was easy if you knew how to shop properly.
She returned from the supermarket with heavy bags.
— These prices are insane.
Zoya checked the bags.
— Mom, you forgot half the ingredients.
Valentina Yuryevna had to go back again.
After that, her speeches about cheap groceries stopped.
A few days later, Platon spoke to Arina privately.
— Maybe we can go back to normal now? Everyone understood.
— We will go back to normal after your mother and sister leave. You and I will cook in turns, like before.
He hesitated.
— And until then?
— They take care of themselves.
Platon finally nodded.
— You’re right. I got too comfortable too.
Two days later, Valentina Yuryevna suddenly became very interested in Zoya’s apartment search.
Within the week, Zoya viewed several places and finally signed a rental agreement.
As she packed her suitcases, she looked at Arina awkwardly.
— Thank you for letting me stay.
— You’re welcome.
Zoya hesitated.
— I really did get too comfortable here.
— At least you found your apartment.
— And apparently I can cook.
— Especially when you have no choice.
They both laughed.
After the relatives left, Platon opened the refrigerator.
— What are we eating?
Arina looked at him.
He immediately corrected himself.
— Wait. It’s my turn today.
— Much better.
Soon their old routine returned.
Arina cooked one evening. Platon cooked the next. When both worked late, they ordered food.
Nobody criticized every plate.
Nobody assumed dinner would magically appear.
A week later, Zoya sent Arina a photo of dinner in her new apartment.
“Cooking for one person is much more enjoyable,” she wrote.
Even Valentina Yuryevna changed.
During her next visit, Arina served meat with vegetables.
Her mother-in-law tasted it and paused, as though preparing another comment.
Then she simply said:
— Delicious.
Platon laughed.
— Nothing else to add, Mom?
She glared at him.
— I said it was delicious.
Arina smiled and continued eating.
She had never wanted victory or gratitude.
She had simply stopped performing a duty everyone else had decided belonged to her.
And apparently, one simple lesson had been enough:
Criticizing someone else’s cooking is easy—until you are the one who has to buy the groceries, stand at the stove, and prepare dinner yourself.