Donning the chef’s cap...

Since time immemorial, a woman and her kitchen are inseparable. While the man provides the food, it falls on the frail shoulders of the woman to present before a family, a filling meal. Before everything else, her culinary prowess marks her competence as a home-maker. Her social acceptance is, more often than not, based precariously on this very fundamental talent. And being a woman, one cannot shy away from her culinary responsibilities.

Till recently, I too had no faith in my culinary skills. I've always been an on again-off again cook who mostly takes to cooking as the last resort. If push comes to a shove, I tend to make the most of whatever is available at the moment and experiment with the most improbable of ingredients. I have been the butt of umpteen number of jokes for being an incompetent house-wife while my husband has been showered with sympathy at my behest. To tell the truth, I've never really tried my hand at serious cooking, my laziness being the sole reason. When I was single, living the happy life of a carefree young girl, I'd never felt the need to cook as my mother always ensured that I had the best food the moment I felt hungry. This, topped with an inherent sense of laziness, fostered in me a deep sense of complacency with regard to cooking. I'd rather eat canned or packaged food or even go hungry than cook myself a decent meal. The very idea of cooking was enough to douse my appetite. What the heck..! At the very least, I wouldn't be putting on unnecessary weight brought on by the love for food. Things were going smooth and it didn’t bother me much.

Typical of women of a bygone generation, my mother had always warned me, saying “you will have a tough time when you get married. Your mother-in-law will give you a sound thrashing when she learns about your attitude towards cooking”. I'd flippantly reply “Don't worry mother, I'll marry a guy who'll know how to cook.” True to my promise, my husband Arun, who was my high-school sweetheart and happens to know me in and out, is himself an excellent cook and a foodie to the core. And my mother-in-law, being the sweet person she is, has never exerted undue influence over me over the matter of cooking. She'd married quite early into a joint family and initially, she herself had been a novice to the kitchen. “Time will be your teacher”, she'd say, and I'd found wisdom in her words. But, like every other young person, I'd think “There's always time for that”. At any rate, my mother breathed a huge sigh of relief on my wedding day. I'd bagged the guy of my dreams and to my advantage, he is no stranger to the kitchen. Love was going to make up for my lack of interest in cooking and life was going to be perfect. Or so I’d thought.

A few months into marriage and I'd realised how wrong I'd been in thinking that my husband would do all the cooking. I was happy with doing the cleaning up afterwards, but that wasn't enough. Men, they say (especially those with a love for food) expect their wives to serve them scrumptious delicacies as had their mothers. And believe me, no amount of love can equate food. Food is food and love is love and neither can fill each other’s shoes. At one point of time, the comparisons start to seep in. Arun tries his best to inculcate a love of food in me. We even watch a number of cookery shows on TV together and marvel at the way food fit for royalty is passionately made. We’d comment on how it was both a science and an art-form in one. But, when it comes to pulling on my apron-strings, I always manage to weasel out somehow or the other. Arun just smiles sadly, shakes his head and enters the kitchen with a sigh. He is a sweet and caring husband, so he doesn’t mind much. But, as I said earlier, one shouldn’t be under the impression that love will make up for food. For any loving relationship to blossom and bear fruit, one must overcome one’s shortcomings and strive to be better. In my case, laziness and complacency need to be conquered. Someone once rightly said “where there’s will, there’s a way” and I’m going to give it my best shot.

So, I’ve decided, it is time to pave my way to my man’s heart through his tummy. I have finally decided to don the chef’s cap.