Wednesday, September 29, 2010

Feminism gets cooked

The last few weeks have done a lot to turn my ideals on their head. 

I've seen a lot of the homelessness system. I've learned what it's like to live with next to no money. I've learned that there is such a thing as unspoken telephone manners, and many of our callers are not skilled in the art... And I'm becoming more and more convinced with each passing day, that I may never want to have any kids (Sorry, Mom). 

More than anything, I think my feminist mentality has received a sudden shake at its core (And no, before you say it, feminists are NOT men haters... for the last time). Don't get me wrong, I still believe in equal rights for sexes, the root of feminist thought. And I still believe that women are just as capable as the opposite sex, both inside and outside of the household. I'm still not looking forward to my wedding day with all it's patriarchal undertones. I'll gladly burn bras and all that jazz. In other words, all of my feminist professors would still be proud, no matter what age of feminism they would classify themselves in. So then exactly how has my feminist mentality been shaken?

It's the food.

I'm serious. It's the food. Or maybe I should be a little bit more clear by saying that it's the COOKING.




It's no secret that I've never been gifted in the kitchen. Well, that's sugarcoating the truth. 

Let me paint this picture for you. In my past attempts at cooking, I've burned basically every food possible -- even those that aren't capable of burning. As my freshman year roommate can attest to, I developed a particular fondness for burnt foods, probably because it was all that I was capable of making. More impressive is that I've burned myself just as much.

Nope, I am not good at cooking. So I gave up on cooking. I called it quits.

Because I knew I wasn't good at cooking, I used it as a crutch to further support my feminist thoughts. "Women belong in the workplace, not at home in front of the stove," I thought. I wasn't good at cooking, but I didn't like the idea of it anyways, so who cares? 

Therefore, my inability to cook anything edible lent itself well to my simplistic line of thinking. My lack of cooking skill was a sign that I belonged in a setting outside of the home. "I can't cook," I thought, "and I really shouldn't anyways in order to establish my identity as separate from and outside of the household."I wanted to be that woman who brought home the bacon, instead of flipping it in a frying pan in front of the stove every morning. Basically my line of thought was, "I can't cook. Good for me. I'll do something less housewife-y instead." Sucking at cooking was just proof that I was a good feminist. 

Yep, that's exactly how I thought. Down to the "housewife-y" adjective. Pretty simplistic and stupid, right? I'm an idiot and I am now aware of this.

Anyway, I was not excited to have to take up cooking again on a weekly basis as part of JVC. I feared for my own safety (no more burns, please) and for the safety of my housemates. Mostly because I didn't want to poison them (well, at least not yet...).

So it was with fear that I made my first dish. Naturally, it was a pasta, the only thing I actually know how to cook. The good news is that I didn't burn it. The bad news is that it wasn't particularly great either -- and I spent too much money on store brand pasta sauce because I didn't know how to make my own (particular members of my casa were NOT happy with me).

With a less-than-successful first outing, I wasn't thrilled about attempt number two, particularly since I would be trying out a new dish, which I hadn't cooked before. 

Fried rice.

I know, I know. It's fried rice, right? How hard could it be? But believe me, if there's a way to mess up fried rice, I would be the person to do it. 

I approached the stove with apprehension and determination, spatula in hand. "Alright stove, let's dance." (Oh lord, now I'm talking to household appliances?) I was determined to make something that was not only a) edible, but also b) low cost.

I followed a recipe that I found online, which included fresh vegetables, soy sauce, oyster sauce, and eggs. I followed the recipe closely and was surprised to find that I was able to carry it out every step. 


Without burning myself.

Most surprising was when we sat down to eat, it was actually good! (**Note: let the record show that I thought it was good, which was echoed at the dinner table by my housemates. But if you talked to them in person, it's very possible that they would have a different opinion.)

I was hit with the sudden realization that I cooked... and that it was good.

In the next couple of days, I proceeded to make bruschetta based upon Ryan's recipe, which I was not able to duplicate exactly, but turned out alright all the same. 

Then came Monday, the true test. I had scheduled myself to cook gnocchi. However, as I started cooking, I realized that I did not have nearly enough food. So I threw together some cucumber salad, a recipe of my mom/Oma's making and Thanksgiving stuffing. I know this does not sound impressive in the slightest.

Here's the impressing part. 1. Least impressive: There is not particular recipe for the cucumber salad, it's all based upon taste. 2. Medium impressiveness: As I started boiling the water for the stuffing, I realized that we did not have enough butter, so I needed to improvise. 3. Most impressive: I made my own gnocchi sauce by completely winging ingredients.

Once again, I impressed myself with the results -- perhaps it's because I have such low expectations for myself, any result is better than expected.

However, none of these surprises were life-changing. 

What was life changing house was the discovery that I actually ENJOY cooking -- a lot. I really do. As I was making the gnocchi, I realized that I was having fun. I was in a groove, playing music in the kitchen. I was having fun mixing different ingredients together to see what they would create. Simply put, I really loved it.


And it seemed like my housemates loved it too. (I got a cooking compliment from Greg, which I would consider a monumental achievement) 

Hold up.

According to my feminist thinking, I'm not supposed to enjoy cooking; rather, I'm supposed to enjoy the act of sucking at it. By liking cooking, I was embracing a housewife lifestyle. 


Or was I?

Maybe my feminist professors wouldn't be too proud after all. I had created this simplistic idea of what a feminist was, which didn't leave room for every type of women. It didn't leave room for women who actually enjoyed the act of being homemakers, who found it empowering, despite people like me rambling that it wasn't a worthy "profession."  It didn't leave room for a lot of women I've been working with over the last few weeks -- single moms who are singlehandedly raising three or four kids without any money. Finally, it didn't leave room for me, the lover of cooking.

Man, am I stupid.

3 comments:

  1. Remember that time you burned instant pudding? Yeah. Weird.

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  2. If I may interject on an academic level (I've never sampled your cooking my love, so can't comment :-P) - whilst there are some schools of feminism that do say that to counter the oppression that has accrued from associating women with household chores, there are some that say that every woman has a right to create her own destiny, as well as self-define as to whatever paradigms she wants.

    Surely everything about equality is that we have a choice in how we run our lives, and have access to that autonomy? I know a couple of people who are feminists but want to be stay at home mums (well, they were scared to use the f word, but they believed in equality and women's autonomy, so I didn't see why they should be excluded from feminism).

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  3. I;m not sure I qualify as a feminist professor, but I am a professor, and I am some kind of feminist. And, I like cooking. I think anything creative is good for the soul. But I also understand and respect women who avoid cooking knowing that if they learned it, they wouldn;t be doing much else in their lives...

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