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| Wednesday, June 09, 2004 |
Kitchen: Hell on EarthAs my second week in Melbourne comes to a close, I find myself settling into life here with relative ease. Back to doing the routine tasks: doing the laundry (which I've always sorta enjoyed, for some strange reason)... cleaning the house (tho I must say, I seem to do it more often in this new address, than I've ever done before *ponders*)... making my own coffee... and the most painful of all this: cooking. When I first arrived on the shores of Melbourne 8-9 years ago, I discovered a painful truth - I'm not really suited for apron strings. I realise that may sound derogatory in a way, but it's so not. I really admire those people who can look so at home in the kitchen (whether on footstools or not), and conduct themselves with such finesse whilst waving wooden spoons in the air. Me - I utterly fall apart in the kitchen. I hold the knife wrongly, I use the wrong pan, I look for ingredients in the wrong places, I never know which part to slice away, which part to cook, which part to mince, which part to throw... In short, I'm dangerous in the kitchen. Yet, I understand that I cannot live a life like before, where I eat out for every single meal (maybe that was why I only ate one huuuggggeee meal a day in previous years). And thus I brave the task (whenever I cannot escape), with rolled-up sleeves and gritted teeth. And now, I have a two-woman (and an omnipresent male) taskforce that seeks to encourage me every time dinnertime strikes. And it touches my heart (which, I've heard, is worth more than a thousand words) that they are so supportive in this daunting task. It's like history repeating itself... if only they knew how many lifespans I've reduced through my cooking, they might not be so brave. Bloody hell. :) . o O declared Lid at 12:15:00 AM |
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