Many years ago, I cooked nearly every day. Living alone, it was a necessity. Over the last few years I stopped cooking altogether, except for the occasions when out with the guys camping, fishing or spur-of-the-moment holiday trips, when I helped out, playing second fiddle to better cooks.
Being able to buy take-away dinners and dine out has gotten so easy, one tends to become inured to its lazy charm.
Walking through the kitchen today, I stopped to gaze dissolutely at some of the utensils and gizmos I’d acquired over the years, when I actually bothered to cook for myself. Gathering some serious dust, they were.
I pulled down a Kenwood electric wok I ‘d bought many years ago and used only a few times. I don’t know why I picked this appliance, as I didn’t particularly have any ingredients to put it to proper use. But for some strange reason, I felt I had to do something with it, anything; just to experience what it felt like to cook again. I soon had that sucker washed and ready….. but for what?
Scratching around I found free range eggs, onions, a couple of chillies that had grown ripe, a piece of chorizo sausage. And in no time I was gazing at an omelette in the wok, which looked like a kings lunch. I soon wolfed that sucker down, and felt an unbelievable sense of satisfaction and achievement.
Yes, it was only an omelette this time, but next time I’m going to climb the culinary heights once again. Men who don’t cook may not be missing much, but I’m convinced they’ll never be complete men.