Meditation on Cooking Supper
A lot of people say they hate to cook. I’ve been mulling that over, because, most of the time, I like to cook. I don’t always achieve meals worth a Michelin star, but my meals are at least edible 9 times out of 10. And when I do take the time to do it right, it’s lots of fun and pretty rewarding.
I’m making supper right now, and it’s not fun. The only reason I can figure is that my son asked for poppy-seed chicken, which is a 0 on the creative and challenging scale. Mix together a can of cream of chicken soup, a cup of sour cream, and a can of chicken. Top it with Ritz crackers, poppy seeds, and butter that have been blended together in the food processor. Toss it in the oven until it bubbles. About as hard as making a bowl of cereal, and I hate to think about the actual nutritional value.
I’ve redeemed it, slightly, by adding brown rice and fresh green peas on the side, but I don’t feel good about this meal. (And the kids will complain about the peas.) I console myself with the fact that I am giving my son something he specifically asked for, and a request for something other than chicken nuggets and French fries is something to honour at all costs.
Tomorrow for supper, I am planning pinwheel steaks with roasted beet chips and fresh salsa. I’ll probably open a can of green beans for the boys, since they hate my salsa and only tolerate the beet chips. But I’m betting I will feel a lot more fulfilled, a lot happier after making that meal — even though I bought the pinwheels ready-made at the butcher’s.
But why is it that the more actual work is involved in making the meal, the happier I am with the results? It can’t just be the nutritive value issue, because a bowl of puffed Kashi with sliced strawberries is indubitably better for the boys than homemade pancakes drenched in butter and maple syrup. So why are the pancakes more fulfilling than the cereal?
My mom would say that it’s the love that goes in. That the more work you do to prepare the meal, the more active love you are showing to your family. I don’t know. But I have to say that her meals always rate a couple of Michelin stars.
I think I worry about all of this because I have such an awful tendency to be a perfectionist. I’m trying very hard to conquer it, because I don’t want my kids to reap the pain of never being “good enough.” I’m scared that this feeling about the meals is just another instance of perfectionism. Which would mean that it isn’t love but pride that is the motivation for my cooking. Somehow, I don’t think that’s a very useful motivation.
In any case, I’m going to continue to enjoy cooking, despite the fears and the horrible having to clean up the kitchen afterward, and I hope my kids will develop a taste for something good to eat.