I'm cooking. I'm. Cooking. I'm actually cooking. Good Lord!
If you've been reading my posts, you should have been able to figure out that I'm not exactly the domesticated type. I did not own a stove for several years, and even when I was staying at my parent's home, I never actively sought to be near it. I love food, but I prefer to eat it than create it. I sometimes think that cooking takes the joy out of eating. You slave yourself over a stove, basking in the aroma of your dish that by the time you're done you're either too tired to feed or too full from the scent of food. What's also curious, is that I was born in a family where it's the men who cook. The women cook sometimes, but it's primarily the men who uses the kitchen. They cook very well, too. An uncle, whose family I visit very rarely, would cook me one of my favorite dishes whenever I stay over, Ginataang Alimasag sa Kalabasa. It was always so divine!
I'm like my mother, on the other hand. My mother does not cook. There's a difference between not doing and not knowing, though. It's just not an activity we enjoy doing all the time. The funny thing is, my mother has a complete kitchen set. When they came over to visit a couple of weeks ago, she bought me the electric stove out of pity, and asked my cousins to bring the pots to my apartment. I ignored it for a couple of weeks, until I got sick and needed the stove to prepare my chicken noodles (When you're sick, it's imperative to have chicken noodles). Now that I'm feeling better, I can choose to ignore it again. However, I saw an instant champorado mix sold at the store on the way home. So, here I am eating my champorado and thinking I'm beginning to take baby steps to getting domesticated. God forbid.
