My better half has many dreams for me, the most important being that one day, I can cook for myself and the family. It has been more than three decades of marital life, and my greatest expertise is in boiling water and sometimes making drinkable tea. Prior to marriage, my dearest late mother also attempted to instill some culinary skills in me, but she failed. Why don’t the women in the house see that some things are beyond interest and some husbands are simply unteachable when it comes to cooking? But my wife persists in her hope.
Generally, I do not like to brag, but I sincerely think I have been the best son and husband any mother and wife, respectively, can hope to have when it comes to accepting the prepared food with absolute gratitude. My mother would wholeheartedly agree, but her daughter-in-law may have a divergent opinion on this proposition. I consume everything that is placed on my table without asking questions. I know plenty of people who are the most finicky in their food choices. Some individuals dislike curds, others dislike potatoes, some detest brinjals, and some have an aversion to onions.
The list of ingredients that should and should not be included in food often leads to poor ladies wanting to wield the rolling pin in various ways against their family members. Some individuals have peculiar food preferences, which can exasperate even the most composed and patient among us. For instance, I shall not name names, but there is one person who despises tomatoes yet has no qualms about consuming tomato ketchup. She has been part of my household since birth, and I have taken care of her education, her joyful moments, and even her marriage. I shall say no more.
A famous poem describes the charging army: “Not to question why but to do and die.” A few changes in the line describe me in full justice. “Not to question why, what, how, when, or from where, but to eat and live.” My wife fails to see the point. Sadly, we tend to ignore the best aspects of life around us. I am clueless when people around me start discussing the price of tomatoes or onions and how governments are failing or falling. I simply nod my head gently and give a knowing smile. If the rates are high, tomatoes disappear from my plate, and I accept it without wondering or throwing a tantrum. If my plate contains only tomatoes, I still consume them without any surprise. Therefore, I refuse to have any understanding of the complex dynamics of the food that arrives on my table. And I am happy that way.
There are certain freaks of nature. One such individual is my brother. He is not only passionate about food, but his lifelong joy has been the act of purchasing vegetables. His major pastime in our growing years was to visit the vegetable market, tagging an uncooperative brother along to hold the bags. Like a thorough clinician, he elevated the whole business of buying vegetables into a fine art and science. He inspected, palpated, percussed, and perhaps even auscultated each vegetable and fruit before dropping them into the basket. A master at work, he used to actually sniff the vegetables and bend the tails of the brinjals. He used all the faculties, except the tongue of course, in his elaborate process of buying vegetables.
Ages back, during my brief stay in the London suburb of East Ham, I came closest to cooking. This location served as a study hub for Indian graduates. They used a library established there to prepare for the qualifying examination (PLAB) required for entering UK Health Services for training and employment. The young doctors stayed in the many houses around the library owned majorly by the Asian diaspora, especially Sri Lankan Tamils. Two students were accommodated in each room of the house, and there was an average of six to eight such students in each house. Apart from studying together, group discussions, and visits to the library, the important activity was cooking for lunch and dinner.
Now, cleaning up the utensils after lunch or dinner was an equally crucial component of the communal activity. The various students took the job of cooking and washing by rotation. I had a crash course in cooking before reaching here, but I drew a deep sympathy from the colleagues who watched me cook on the first day. They promptly joined me in their food club and offered me an incredible deal: I would handle the utensils while being relieved of all cooking responsibilities.
One night, we were discussing the exam papers, and the group discovered that I was answering the questions with much rapidity. The group, fresh out of medical schools and surprised by my knowledge, asked me if I had some clinical experience. I replied that I was a qualified Paediatric Surgeon. The Indian cultural respect for seniority kicked in almost instantaneously. They all rose up from their seats and very politely asked me to stop the washing bit too. And the one month I stayed there, the young students lovingly took care of my food needs. God bless them all. I passed the exam, joined a hospital, and shortly thereafter, my wife also joined me. That was very close.
Living surrounded by serious freaks has been a distinct disadvantage throughout my life. My son-in-law is a new addition to my life and is currently putting insane pressure on me. He is a great cook and unbelievably considers cooking as a great stress buster. When more stressed, he cooks more items and for a larger group of people. When he follows his passions flawlessly, my wife and daughter provide me a special look, and I feel a wave of guilt and shame wash over me. I have added a few more things to my repertoire, like putting the food into the microwave oven for heating, but apparently that does not count.
Have I mentioned this before? I take anything placed on my table without fuss and without complaining. To the question, ‘How is the food in general or an item in particular?’, my answer ranges from ‘good’ to ‘best’. I never critique any food placed in front of me. It is another matter that my mother simply stopped asking me this question and seeking my opinion on any dish. However, does that not qualify me as a wonderful person to cook for? I mean, if everyone cooks, who would be there to enjoy it? I believe that the kitchen should not be too overcrowded by enthusiasts eager to cook. Furthermore, my English teacher taught me firmly that too many cooks spoil the broth. Strong logic, according to me, but it fails to impress anyone in the house.
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