For the love of food

How I've inherited an affinity with the kitchen.

I step foot into my grandparents’ house and the warm scent of roasting chicken hits my nostrils. I follow my mum and grandma into the kitchen and listen as they talk through the potatoes my grandma is boiling, the chicken she has in the oven, the stuffing and gravy, the green veg, cauliflower cheese…

It’s been almost 10 years since I last had a Sunday lunch at my grandma’s, but the sensory explosion of her delicious food, the scent that lingered for the rest of the day, and the heaviness of my head after a much-needed post-lunch nap means I could still transport myself right there.

I come from a family of culinary magicians. My mum often talks fondly of following her mum around the kitchen, fine-tuning her skills. She also talks of how talented my great-grandma was with food - although I never experienced this, as she was well into her 80s by the time I was born. Still, she could throw back a G&T with ease until she passed in her late 90s.

As my grandma’s health declined and my grandparents moved into a smaller home with a pitiful kitchen, my mum began cooking for them each week - “meals on wheels”. Sundays previously spent in their home while my grandma effortlessly served a platter of roasted goods were replaced with mum batch cooking a host of different dishes, multiple pots and pans on the go, ready to be neatly packaged in Tupperware for my grandparents to take home with them, before she herself would cook a roast dinner for us all. She barely broke a sweat.

Growing up, I had very little interest in cooking despite my relatives’ talents. Dinners at university consisted of from-frozen meals or platefuls of pasta, while my best friend India cooked up a storm. I just didn’t get it - why would I want to spend so much time sweating over a stove for the whole thing to be eaten and gone within 10 minutes?

Then I fell in love.

It happened slowly at first. My boyfriend and I got the keys to our flat and I had no choice but to cook dinner after getting home from work. Previously I’d dreaded the thought of having to do this; I wanted to come home and glue myself to the sofa, thanks very much.

But steadily, I began to find myself looking forward to getting home and making a meal for us both. I would experiment with flavours, trial and taste different recipes, and I’d even crack out the slow cooker (which is now a firm favourite in our kitchen).

Sausage casserole; a slow cooker staple.

The mouth-watering smells and delicious flavours that came from just a few simple ingredients helped me learn the true magic of cooking - the missing piece really is love.

Some days, I walk into our kitchen from another room and I could be in my grandma’s or my mum’s. The smell is the exact same.

My cooking still has a long way to go, but they’ve got some years on me.

A message I sent to my mum not long ago.

It’s not so much the end result for me, it’s the soothing process of prepping ingredients, cooking and monitoring pots and pans, tidying up as I go along, then seeing Aidan’s reaction to the dish. It’s like a dance, done smoothly and methodically to ensure everything is just right.

The strangest side effect to it all is how much more connected I feel to the women in my family, particularly my mum and grandma, because of it. My grandma passed away almost four years ago, and she will never get to taste anything I cook, or know of the deep appreciation I have developed towards the kitchen, yet I still feel her next to me whenever I tie my hair back, wash my hands, and pick up my ingredients.

I miss her so much more, because of my new found love for cooking that was inherently within me all along.

I feel decades, if not centuries, of women who have cooked for their partners, children, or just themselves, in my DNA. It comes alive with the heat of a pan.

“The people who give you their food give you their heart.”

I realise a lot of this post has leaned into traditional gender roles. Luckily, we play things very 50/50 in our household; whoever cooks, the other does The Big Tidy Up; typically I cook in the week (because I’m home two hours earlier) and Aidan cooks at weekends; we both spend time together choosing what to have for dinner each night.

Sesame, white chocolate and tahini cookies inspired by our favourite bakery. Baked with love for Aidan’s birthday in April.

What this has led to is a form of liberation. I don’t feel exhausted by cooking and it never feels like a chore. In fact, often at weekends I find myself wanting to bake or flipping through a cookbook to find my next new recipe. Because it’s a labour of love, not just a labour.

Some of my favourite dishes and bakes this year.