Domestication
My chosen word for my talk 'a room of one's own' at this year's Women in Food aka WIF
I have always loved food, from when I was a chubby child but my attitude to it and cooking has changed over the years. At first, I was curious about practically everything, the taste of things – apparently I started eating raw lamb’s liver for breakfast from when I could chew – to the methods of preparation, to where everything edible came from or was grown. I was basically my mother’s kitchen pest, always in her feet when she cooked, watching every movement and begging for a taste whenever a dish was ready.
She was a wonderful cook, and every day she prepared the most exquisite food which of course I wolfed down with great gusto. But more than anything I loved being in the kitchen with her, also with my grandmother when we visited, attentive to every step of their preparations, and constantly checking on the progress of every dish as it simmered, baked or grilled away.
Despite my love for my mother’s and grandmother’s kitchens, and that of my aunt in Syria, I had decided from very early on, especially from when I started to obsessively read the French existentialists, that I wouldn’t be following in their footsteps. For me, the idea of being domesticated, which cooking represented then, was anathema and I rejected it completely.
I was planning a very different life for myself, and this from when I was 16 years old. Neither marriage, nor children, nor home making featured in my future despite it being expected of me. Instead, I intended to leave home as soon as I could to lead a liberated, intellectual life in Paris.
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