CAVEATS, COOKBOOKS AND CONDESCENSION

I am perhaps every mother's (and mother's-in-law's) worst nightmare. I HATE cooking! There, I have admitted it. I do not feign to be part of the growing breed of the new age women, who proclaim their apathy to culinary skills as part of a self-righteous, liberating experience. My lack of culinary skills stems from a pure indifference to the tastes and flavours that are essential in grooming one's palate.

Innumerable reel space is nowadays being devoted to the fact that girls are shunning the kitchen space and sweating it out in places other than over the kitchen stove! I gloat and giggle, each time I see these frivolous elucidations on what the current generation of damsels revere. It justifies my stance and lulls me into a comfortable haze where I do not stand alone in my vicious dislike of all things culinary!

Whenever I try and conjure up a memory of my childhood, I recall my mother, cooking up some delicacy with steamy precision and loving fervour. Her kitchen was her shrine and my playground; where I twirled with girlish delight to tantalising aromas which were as heady as any liberating elixir. I always assumed that I was destined to bask in these flavours from afar, only dive into the comforts of victual ecstasy as and when desired.

Cut to the present. I share dwelling space with a room mate who was pretty sanguine about my cooking skills. He never took it upon himself to put culinary skills in the fine print of our marital agreement. When I repeatedly washed my hands clean (literally and figuratively) of all trysts with the ladle and stove, realisation slowly dawned that I was a lost cause.

Having a cooking handicap is not without its fair share of benefits. Nobody expects a gourmet meal where I am concerned. When people visit us, they always enter with trepidition; send silent prayers to their guardian angels, whenever there is a dinner/lunch invite involved. So anything that is better than a disaster is lauded and commended in a manner that would make my neighbours believe I am a prodigy (I still think of myself as a babe in the woods as far as cooking is concerned.) of some sort!!!

Over the years, I have been gifted with scores of cook-books. "Basic Cooking Skills", "Cooking Tips for Amateurs", "Easy Microwave Cooking", "Cook Books for Bachelorettes and New Brides", I can probably open a bookstore of my own. I have them all, courtesy of well-wishers who pity me enough to try and save my soul (via the stove, of course!). But by far the best gift that I have received has been from my loving room mate; a list of all restaurants in the neighbourhood with home-delivery services!!! Whoever said "the way to a man's heart is through his stomach" is sadly mistaken. I believe the adage should be, "The way to a man's heart is through home delivery!"

I know I stupefy friends and family alike, with my imprudence in the cooking department. My lack of judiciousness is often viewed with derision and sarcasm. I do believe it is a personal choice. I appreciate all those men and women who can conjure up some gourmet delight without batting an eyelid or breaking out in cold sweat! My expeditions into the kitchen have always been accompanied by some disastrous calamity. The nimbleness with which my fingers can type this verbose eulogy to cooking is a far cry from the gauche manner in which they approach the goods and goodies needed to make a meal. I flit and flitter, curse and mutter, run and ruin, boil and burn, all the while dropping precious ingredients onto the floor and precious moments from my life. What is the logic behind slaving for hours to cook a meal that is usually devoured in less than half an hour?? One of life’s little ironies that I refuse to succumb to…Perhaps I sound foolishly pompous. Indeed, I have given “cooking skills” more than its fair share of credit just by devoting so much literary space to the same.

Even my cook (to cater to our hunger pangs) scorns and scoffs at me whenever I declare that some of her preparations do not taste the way they are supposed to. She remains unmoved and unapologetic about her transgressions with the ingredients/spices and I hold my peace because frankly, I do not know what ingredients are truly required to make the said dish!!

Till date I fail to comprehend the differences between the varieties of pulses, rice, and vegetables that flood the grocery market. One would think that buying groceries would be a fairly simple job… I used to think so too, till I headed out on my first solo shopping expedition. I am quite popular with the vegetable and commodity vendors in our district, since I am probably the only person in the vicinity who is the source of some wonderful entertainment…all at my own expense of course!

I will never be a good cook, much less an expert one. It suits me well enough, this image of being the millennium’s worst culinary project. Over the years, I’ve had my share of showdown’s and burnouts in the kitchen space. For the peace and well-being of all those involved and interested in the serenity of my humble household, I have cheerfully relinquished all the commodities and the claim to the gastronomic quarters to my cook-in-need! And for those who plan a dining visit, this declaration comes with a monumental sense of relief!!