Existential Cooking
I wish I were a disciplined cook, or unimaginative or even both. I’d have a timetable on my fridge door and I’d stick to it like clockwork. I’d look at it in the morning and serenely cook lunch and dinner without any heartburn or anger issues. I would achieve a Zen like state in my kitchen.
I have a repertoire of recipes that could easily take us through a fortnight of meals. It would be so easy. Three meat, three chicken, three fish, three veg. Half a dozen accompaniments. Rinse. Repeat. If only I could bear the monotony and boredom.
But I can’t. I have been seduced by the world of internet recipes. The siren call of world cuisine and exotica is too strong to resist. I have gone over to the dark side of cooking shows and recipe books and I am afraid there is no turning back.
I dream of whipping up new and startling food combinations on a daily basis, à la contestants on my favourite cooking show. I fantasise about my family showering praise on my wonderful culinary chutzpah as they eagerly help themselves to seconds and even thirds. But every morning as I open my fridge and freezer, these dreams evaporate and I stare at the chicken (no guinea fowls or Cornish hens) and the cauliflower (oh for some Brussel sprouts or zucchini flowers instead) in despair.
I am also slowly losing faith in my family’s ability to generate enough novelty in their eating habits. The dreaded phrase “what do you want to eat tonight?” causes temporary deafness or empties the room so fast it creates a vacuum in which I am left, alone and grasping at straws. Yet, the constant gripe is “Chicken again?” as if I am the sole guardian of the arcane science of conjuring up new species of edible animals on a regular basis. I’m happy to cook. Just tell me what to cook.
But don’t make me do last minute shopping either. Nothing is worse to a cook touched by OCD as the recipe that waits till the last ingredient to blithely inform you that the only way to get this spice or that herb is to swim the ocean or scale a mountain. Sure, I could leave it out. Not. That would ensure indigestion induced nightmares where some disembodied voice mocks my inadequacy. “Call yourself a cook? And you couldn’t source the one ingredient that every tribesman in the deepest Kalahari knows is indispensable to that recipe? Mwahahaha!!” Etc.
The problem is the smorgasbord of recipes available at the click of the mouse. Too much choice is a bad, bad thing. It’s not as if I’m ill prepared. I have a well stocked pantry. In fact, my better half has been known to mutter dark asides about feeding armies or being ready for the Seige of Leningrad, with his head stuck inside the pantry cupboard. I freely admit to a deep rooted yet completely irrational fear of running out of food. Stocking up on rice, sugar, milk and other staples is one thing but my heart is only truly happy when the freezer is groaning with enough meat and associated products to win me the medal of Best Bawi Ever (and it’s common knowledge that I’m lacking in that department in every other way). And I can sigh with relief only when there are two bottles of every imaginable Chinese/Thai sauce and honey and balsamic vinegar and mustard beaming at me from the shelves of my store cupboard.
And yet, modern recipes stymie the best laid preparations of mice and me. Five different peppercorns at my fingertips and the recipe asks for a sixth. Light, medium, dark soy sauce? Oh no, it needs the extra light or this recipe will be a disaster. And so on. Spontaneity is an impossibility in these days of dukkah spice mix and purple peppercorns and coconut sugar.
It’s a roller coaster ride. A couple of mundane meals and the itch to explore drives me crazy. Give in to the urge to scratch and voila! frustrated by the sourcing of ingredients with a huge carbon footprint or out of season or just unavailable. Sound the retreat to the tried and tested – yawn! And so it goes. Try being irresponsible and order in from restaurants, the kids accusingly ask, “Isn’t there any home food?”. Back to the kitchen.
I don’t need a personal shopper. Or a personal assistant. I just need someone to tell me what to cook. Is that too much to ask for?