Sharing food with another human being is an intimate act that should not be indulged in lightly.M. F. K. Fisher
I had just sat down to answer an email on my laptop, when I remembered that I still had an item on my schedule for today. At least 30 minutes of blog work. And I actually had a thought of what I might wirte about. Or at least start writing about. Yet, I decided to check out active prompts. Prior to sitting down, I had been cooking and I messaged Michael that I’d prefer to be cooking with him. Yes, I might be paraphrasing. But the idea was just about that.
I love cooking. I love eating. Especially when someone else prepared the food for me. It simply tastes better. Knowing that another person took time out of their schedule and thought about what I might like, it is nice. I should mention that I have been repeatedly told I’m a terrible guest. Not because I can’t behave myself, I usually can. But because I have trouble accepting that someone else does something for me. I also get up and help. Bringing stuff in, clearing the table. And if people would let me, I’d do the dishes.
As I said, I love cooking. For others and myself. I enjoy when other people cook for me. But cooking with someone is something I haven’t done much. I have this fantasy that is incredibly romantic. I’m cutting herbs while he is marinating the meat. Or the other way around. He reaches around me and gives me a quick kiss. Or he wants to know whether the sauce needs more salt and lets me try it, off a spoon.
Of course eating together is wonderful. Talking, enjoying the food. If at a restaurant, maybe trying each other’s dishes. I can see the appeal of a candle light dinner (not that I had many). But for me that is not as intimite as cooking together.
The more I think about it, the more I smile about myself. As I said, the idea of cooking together is extremly romantic and intimate to me. At the same time I hate people doing anything in my kitchen. Not because they are doing it wrong, but because they aren’t doing it my way. I want things done a certain way and dished put away as they should be. I like it when the stuff in the sink is piled up in a sensible way and the potatoes are cut the only right way. And don’t even get me started on the oven knobs…
Now I find myself with a man who enjoys cooking. He likes the idea of making food for me and sharing food with me. He hasn’t cooked in my kitchen yet, and it might be a while, so I’m not too stressed about it. Yet. However, we have spend time together in places which had a kitchen and he has cooked for me. Sharing our food with each other, cooking for one another, has been amazing. I have shared some of my favourite dishes, food I grew up with. I loved it. And even when I wasn’t allowed to do anything (I still think it was his way to turture me) and just had to sit there and watch him – and comment on how he was doing it not quite right – I loved it.
Next time we’re together, whenever the world will allow it, we will cook together. Both of us, at the same time. And he will drive me crazy and I will tell him what he’s doing wrong and I will be extremly irritated because he’s doing things the way he does them and not my way – aka the right way.
And I will love every second of it.