The Misery of Cuisine

i do not like cooking. Its a statement that comes from my heart. i see cooking as a scientific experiment that needs the accurate amount of ingredients put into a pot to turn out into...voila!..a meal to satisfy the grumbles of the stomach and warm the cold of the heart. Don't tell me to "follow your heart" or "put as much as you want" or "cook according to your needs". Give me:-

item i: 5 tomatoes, finely chopped

item ii: one clove of garlic or 5 pips of garlic, thinly sliced or diced

item iii: 2 tspoons of fine salt

thats more like it!

sometimes i wonder with great thought, why does my mother continuously march me to the kitchen to learn up chicken curry or sambar, when measurements for those recipes have already been taken. Or why she INSISTS that i learn up a new recipe knowing i have no head for this, probably wont remember anything and probably will call her again if i EVER wanted to try out those recipes.

perhaps, she does it because she hopes i would unleash some hidden skill for cooking. Or she's secretly hoping I would end up a multitalented housewife. Or she's training me for the day I become a secret agent and I'm stranded on some island with no food, I would end up making french cuisine with some berries and a stick. Or maybe she just wants me to eat well.

well, two things are for sure. One, no matter how much heart or lack of heart i put into my cooking, I'd definitely will call my mom from wherever (even on the lonely island) to ask for the recipe. Thats the only way I would learn. Secondly, I'm awesome at eating.