Call it divine intervention, call it a sense of amazement, if you will, but today I had a revelation – that I really, really like food.
Haha. I know now that I said it that it sounds ridiculous. Let me explain.
I spend an exorbitant amount of time looking at food pictures, reading food blogs, staring at recipes, researching recipes, taking pictures of food. It’s like I’m married to food – yet, I hardly ever cook. My husband does the job mainly. Currently, my mom lives with us, helping out with daycare, and she often cooks on Sundays. That’s where the trouble begins. Or rather, that’s one of the main sources of my laziness.
Today, as I sat there and finished a food memoir – Molly Wizenberg’s Delancey, I thought to myself how much I enjoy reading about food. Food nourishes us, it creates a sense of community, it makes us into better people (by that I mean, once you learn how to cook you remember it, because the idea sticks in your head, therefore allowing yourself less opportunity to make the same mistakes again in the future). Food, according to my upbringing, is truly a community thing. We often had big family gatherings when I was growing up in Vietnam, and although I was too young to understand it at time, I really enjoyed it. I enjoyed the laughter, the clinking of the dishes and chopsticks, the overzealous attitudes from some of my family members as they gossiped about what was going on in our village at the time. Having a gathering was an excuse for a celebration, or simply to connect with others.
These days, we try to instill the same values in our household. Although I am not the cook on most days (actually, scratch that- I am NOT the cook at all LOL), I still believe in the value of family-style dining, of eating together at the table every night. With busy lives and tiredness coming on sooner than we’d like, most of us tend to resort to eating alone, eating fast food or unhealthy, or eating at separate tables, and that’s unfortunate in this society. My husband and I eat at the dining room table at least five nights a week, with Lily, our daughter in a high chair next to us. She has her own bowl, and would usually nom nom nom her way for about ten minutes, or until she gets tired of the food, at which point she promptly throws the remaining contents on the ground. Splat. It lands on the floor two feet away.
When I started this blog, my intent was to become a better cook, specifically a better baker, and since then I feel like I have become a better baker, but not a better cook. I still have so much more to go. It’s a little overwhelming – the kitchen, that is. Knives still terrify me. I’m barely getting by with the knife skills. Spices are amazing and I wish I could bathe in it. Vegetables and fruits are a must in my fridge. I’m still terrible with “baked goods” that involve any type of pasta, but I can make a mean pound cake nowadays. With that said, I decided that I must venture back into food writing. Being almost thirty and still having no clue what my true passion lies (mainly because I have several – sewing, photography, writing, finances, etc), but also knowing that I have a certain goal in mind – to become a better cook, and to write about it, I’m going to give this blog another go. Perhaps this will force me to try cooking a little bit more often, and learn from myself. And relieve my husband and mom from cooking so much hehe 🙂