“I just couldn’t get away from the siren call of the kitchen that is an inherent part of me. The kitchen of which I speak is both literal and metaphoric. It’s the sum of what I’ve learnt so far, and am still learning.” – Sophie Dahl, Miss Dahl’s Voluptuous Delights.
I have a confession to make: I hate cooking. I hate it. It literally makes me itch. Now, like a lot of things in my life, if I was okay with hating cooking, then all would be well, but I don’t want to hate cooking.
The weird thing is that I love the idea of cooking. New cookbooks make me drool. I pre-ordered Sophie Dahl’s new cookbook months ago and lovingly caress the covers of Risotto with Nettles and Plenty every time I am in a bookstore. I open the pages of Heidi’s books and something in my soul feels better – just owning them nourishes me – but I have yet to cook anything from them.
In my dreams I stand rosy cheeked and happy beside a stove while cooking something delectable. Stirring fresh basil into my sauce, I create magic just like Vianne in Chocolat. In reality, my back starts to ache and my teeth grind against one another in barely contained tension. It’s so bad that my husband (who cooks nearly all of our meals) completely avoids the kitchen when I am making dinner.
What is it – the missing ingredient that links desire and reality?
I know that I love beautiful things and that good food can be exquisitely beautiful. I love the whimsy and the theatricality of ingredients and their presentation. I love the alchemy that is involved in something going on its journey from seed to plate. I can be the most rapt and appreciative dinner guest – but it loses all magic when I am the one having to do the work.
So there is the challenge: learn how to find the exquisite in the preparation instead of just the outcome. See the beauty that lies in the work. Delight in the journey.
Or just get someone else to cook for me.
I am completely open to invitations.
xo
