I’ve never really been a cook, but I’ve always loved food. Growing up, it was my grandmother who ruled the kitchen - she was the sole proprietor of every meal, never once depending on a cook book. My father, like many men of his generation, had never made a meal in his life. My mother might have, but she never stood much of a chance—her mother-in-law had claimed the stove and was the only one depended upon to feed the family.
I was an only child and spoiled to some degree. As a result, it never depended on me to help with the cooking. My lack of interest was of no help, as well. Cooking wasn’t a shared experience, it was something orchestrated by my grandmother. It is, I can say, the only thing she’s known how to do in her life.
I was born in a pretty well-off family, hence, meat was an indispensable ingredient in the meal: pot roasts twice a month, steaks and pork chops on rotation, even vegetables garnished with bits of meat. It was like a magician pulling different pieces of meat out of his hat - you get used to the same trick after so long.
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A few years later, I found myself in a student apartment trying to surprise myself with a freshly bought magician’s hat that fit my head. I continued to surprise myself by the lack of talent I had. Suffice it to say, my new profession was a success. Everyday was a confirmation that my place was not in the kitchen. My lack of understanding how ingredients are combined is a talent in itself. What goes with what? Is this cooked through? Can you eat it like that?
Another few years later, I met someone who truly knew his way around the kitchen. His cooking wasn’t something learned, it is inborn. When he dances around the kitchen, I am but a viewer of his moves. A silent observer of a skill I can never possess, however much I try. His hands knew what to put in next, his knife never wavered, his knack of experimenting left me in awe - and, if I’m honest, a little jealous.
At the beginning of our relationship I was invited to have breakfast with his family. The meal is something I thoroughly enjoy to this day - scrambled eggs with finely chopped peppers. A loaf of bread, chopped tomatoes and some white cheese to nicely accompany the meal. A true summer breakfast which cannot be beat. I couldn’t wait to dig in.
“Honey, give the girl some meat. She’s not used to such sub-par food”, his grandmother said.
It was the first time I heard such a nice breakfast being considered less than.
After ten years cooking together, we are still making simple meals. I am the devoted helper, while he is the Marco Pierre White of the kitchen. A knob of butter is a must in every dish, some lard for added flavor, and an indispensable amount of olive oil in every salad.
At times I consider myself the connoisseur of even simpler combinations - a nice loaf of bread with pate and tomatoes, some tomatoes sprinkled with a little bit of pesto, or maybe just toasted bread with a butter spread and some sweet marmalade. Basking in the tiny pleasure of three ingredients.
Here’s an idea for a wonderful breakfast for two:
3-4 spring onions
4 eggs
Bread
Tomatoes
Dice the spring onions and toss them into a warm pan.. Add the eggs and mix. The bread and tomatoes are a side dish to this. Voila, you have an explosion of flavors from just four ingredients, only two of which have been cooked.
I can say that food is a love language. A certain type of love language that transcends the others. For some gift giving is how they express themselves, or physical touch, or words of affirmation. But, cooking is all of them combined into one dish. Something served on a plate tells you: “Enjoy this omelet I made because you make me extremely happy.”
And indeed, I do a little dance every time I sit down to eat with my husband.
Thank you for taking the time to read. Next time you sit down to eat, pause before you dig in and notice how the combinations go with each other to make something that will not be the same the next time you make it.