I love that picture very much because it represents so much to me. I am cooking no doubt, but I am cooking in a some what difficult condition. Yet, am doing it with love. That is the whole line of my story at least with cooking.
From my earliest recollection of cooking for my dolly, (mud puddings and iced tea with mint leaves plugged straight from the trees lol) I loved the whole process. I got lost in the art of it all and I had fun taking myself so seriously and vital – dolly was going to stay hungry unless I cooked for her. The mockery and shun offs I got from home at the time when I offered to cook for all, only motivated me to want to cook better lol.
I also knew cooking food was more nutritional than buying food because both parents told us so. Above all, my late mami mami loved cooking, and cooking so deli, I just fell in love with cooking.
I cooked for us siblings when mum left, and for near two years when living in a single bedroom with my late brother in our father’s villa, I smuggled a kerosene cooking stove, and some food every now and then, to cook for us in that room turned home for us. You can all imagine this was traumatic but I was grateful to be able to cook for my brother who was ere so fragile and could not stand not eating like I could, much to the annoyance of step mother.
When I got married, I will cook and make little salads and deserts as often as I could. I did it with love, but oh how it started piercing my soul when hubby stopped eating what I cooked for all sorts of reasons.
Today, I am in a very good place mentally and all, and I still cook with all that love. Indeed in Belgium, my little private restaurant was baptized merry tables. Ah I wish I could a restaurant out here for real as a retirement venture maybe? Hmm, I got them talents and ideas in abundance no joke..
But now, what about eating? Hmm, I was a skinny child growing up, play in lieu of food was an ideal bargain I tried all the time. But then, I used to be forced to finish my plate so I managed to share it with the table, ground my hair, dress you name it lol
When living with my brother in that our room/cell if you may, eating was not my priority. Not knowing when next provisions would come or the chance to sneak out, jump over the fence with broken bottles and go smuggle them in, meant that I had to hoard or eat carefully. You can imagine eating lost all significance to me. Maybe only later resurfaced as a coping mechanism?
Exactly, that’s what eating became to me for half of my marital life. I started eating in abundance, topping all the yummy I cooked with ice creams and other delis from the bakery etc
When I hit 115kgs, I knew enough was enough. Breathing indeed became a problem and I had to do something.
I got so angry with myself and the world, I stopped eating period. I hid behing dry fasting from 6-6, to reduce my eating to an apple and a gladd of hot cocoa at night. Needless to say anorexia surfaced and near thrived for 18months until mum threatened then pleaded…
Today, at 77kgs, and with the real and free and lovely me now present, I eat for nourishment and out of love too. Love for me, my body, my children, my family, my guardian angel. I also keep cooking for all with love, conscious too of the effects on my physical wellbeing especially with my RA diagnosis and sometimes very painful reality…when I can’t even lift my hand.
In conclusion, I am especially grateful for all those STILL who eat what I cook with love like my boys, and to all those who understand my pull to their kitchens or loo when I visit them hahaha. Maybe I’ll also take up professional cooking on retirement?
Dear all, while wishing you a happy weekend, may I encourage you to think about why you cook or eat…and to be grateful to be able to do either or both…