Anyone for takeout?

I must confess, the joys of cooking remain a mystery to me. The kitchen is an unknown, virgin territory that I’m almost afraid to explore. The extent of my ignorance is reflected in the considerable amount of time it would take me to confidently identify a spatula from a back scratcher. Come to think of it, I’m impressed I even know the word, ‘spatula’.

To make matters worse, I’m married.

Needless to say, my lack of culinary skills, have earned me quite a reputation. The shudders, the sighs and even the occasional gasps continue to haunt me regularly at family reunions and dinner parties.

From the outright, ‘But beta, what do you feed your husband?’ to the more subtle, ‘Oh, you like this dish? All you have to do is, mix one teaspoon of oil, chopped up some onions, add a tablespoon of…wait, why aren’t you taking this down?’

My husband, on the other hand, is at the receiving end of countless sympathies, back pats and ‘there there’s’. Never mind, that unlike me, the man actually knows where the kitchen is.

It almost seems like I’ve betrayed my sex. Given women, especially married women, a bad name. I am cursed. With Kitchen phobia, if you please.

I’m told cooking is a woman’s art. The kitchen, her domain. One is incomplete without the other. I might try and argue that the greatest chefs in the world belong to the masculine gender. But I might as well place one arm on my waist and sing ‘I is a big, old teapot’, before I can get someone to agree.

So what does one do? Do I sell out and sheepishly take cooking lessons in my bid to feed my supposedly starving husband? Or do I stand firm and refuse to be a stereotypical wife?

Before you answer that, allow me to elaborate on my one and only cooking experience.

Heat up some oil in the frying pan. Oh wait, not hair oil. The other kind. Phew, olive oil works both ways. Now, gently crack an egg. Oh and next time, crack the shell outside the pan. What the heck, maybe crunchy eggs taste good.

Oops. Forgot the milk. Can I add it now? Can I be a little exotic and add a few cashew nuts, instead? How about strips of coconut? Do eggs turn black before they turn soft, honey yellow? Do I now scrape it off the pan with a ‘spatula’ (AHA!)? Why is there smoke everywhere?

Hmmmm. Anyone wants to order idlis, instead?

Some people are born to cook. Others serve as ready and willing eaters. I belong to the latter half.

My husband, bless him, wouldn’t want it any other way.