When did we stop cooking?  Why did some of us never start?  I’d blame society, but that is far too nebulous a target.  I’d blame the families, but in this generation, the parents are pretty much doing what was done to/for them, in a lot of cases, and I don’t want to broadly judge people whose particular situations are unknown to me.  I don't really want to judge at all - I am more interested in the why and when than the should or shouldn't.  There is probably a complex algorithm that incorporates the shift of the norm from one-income to two-income families, the ever-creeping poverty line and the crafty marketing of pre-fabricated food products that constantly lower the ability threshold needed in order to prepare something theoretically edible.  Overall, though, I cannot shake the feeling that it is because our culture has been encouraged to prize convenience over quality in our everyday lives.

I know that in this age of convenience, it is broadly considered a little backward and precious to make things completely from scratch, all the time – and I don’t grow my own flour and mill it myself, or anything – but I like to cook.  I like to see how things are made, on a basic level, rather than simply always buying my bread from a store or bakery.  I’m interested in how cheese is made, and the relationship of wild yeast and sourdough starter.  Homemade bread or ricotta is exciting, and leaves me with a sense of accomplishment and understanding, but it is something of a luxury for a city dweller.  However, as someone who doesn’t have to make cheese in order to eat cheese, I am able to dabble at my leisure, dilettantish as that might be.  Besides, if civilization really is verging on collapse, these will be handy skills indeed.

I don’t expect everyone to have the same burning interest in food that I do, but it’s shocking how many people consider food and food-related activities as one more thankless chore.  I have friends who like to cook, and I have friends who like to eat (thank goodness, or there would be no audience at all for my incessant food prattle).  I am astonished, however at how many people I know who simply can’t, won’t or don’t cook, and now – at thirty-something – it just seems like to much effort to start.

Perhaps it is easier to make it a point of pride, not to cook.  At one point, I suppose that was the hallmark of the privileged class, to be rich enough to afford a household cook, but nowadays it is more suggestive of a life of restaurants and pre-cooked entrees from the frozen section of the supermarket.  It must be daunting for an adult to pick up skills and learn the basic information that was second nature to previous generations by adulthood.  It is no longer the comical socialite-fallen-on-hard-times, trying to wash a potato in hot soapy water that is our image of a modern adult who doesn’t know his or her way around the kitchen.  It could be anyone.

And there’s so much more information now, to learn!  The variety of ingredients that are now available, many of which I adore but are completely new to me as an adult.  These new items are essential components to the foreign cuisines that we partake of and even, to a degree, think of as our natural culinary territory!  Suddenly, there are new vegetables to learn how to cope with (do you peel it?  Must it be cooked or can you eat it raw?  Does it keep in the fridge or spoil?  Should it be wrapped in plastic, or paper, or nothing?) new utensils and technology and expectations!

So, where do you start?  I used to think that you start with the basics, but that is more kitchen boot-camp thinking than is really practical.  What are the basics, anyway? Boiling water?  Cooking an egg?  What if you don’t like eggs?  Do you really need a boot-camp course on frying, scrambling and poaching?  It all depends what you like to eat, so that’s where you start.  What do you eat?  Find a few dishes that you enjoy and which don’t look too fussy.  Get some recipes and figure out what you need to learn and buy in order to make them.  Practice.  Then, with a few skills and some new knowledge and experience, you’ll feel more confident about branching out.

I’ve always been a fan of those cookbooks that are specially designed for the college-bound or single folk who suddenly realize how much dinero their constant dinners out are costing them.  Even the ones that are designed to give a clueless kitchen rookie a shot at making a great date-dinner can have a lot of great, simple recipes and good ideas. I generally skip the frequently condescending instructions that inform the reader that “that special someone” will be quite put off if you don’t pick up your filthy socks for the big night, scan with both interest and occasionally amusement the suggestions about what equipment and ingredients are required for a basic stocked kitchen, and dive into the recipes and menus.  Stick to the cooking, book!  We’re not orangutans, here, we know not to leave out our laundry.  Just tell us whether we need to wash the bell peppers, please.  Simplify, don’t dumb it down.

Probably the best of these kinds of cookbooks are the ones that are predicated on minimizing the number of ingredients needed to make each recipe, with the caveat that the recipes must not rely too heavily on tinned soup or other prefab emergency rations.  Simple combinations of basic ingredients can go a long ways toward delicious meals that don’t require agonizing and uncertainty.

I should probably note here that I enjoy a certain amount of agonizing and uncertainty in the kitchen, but that’s a personal choice, and one that I don’t expect many people share.  It’s the same masochistic yet sadistic tendency that leads me to experiment, culinarily, on my friends.  In order to cope with the nerve-shattering possibility that everything will go wrong, I’ve adopted something of an emergency response plan: when it flops, pour more wine.  My primary goals for entertaining are surprisingly modest, really.  I want everyone to get plenty of food, and no one to get food poisoning.

I think that you have to be at least somewhat interested in food to be a good cook, and that the Leave-it-to-Beaver style family with the happy housewife and perfect mother who is also an excellent cook is something of a propaganda-driven illusion of the idealized nuclear family.  Lousy and indifferent cooks are not new to our generation, and the 1950s model that we picture when thinking of that bygone era does not accurately represent what was happening in the kitchens of the time.  What is new is that people who like food, and are interested in it, are finding themselves all grown up without knowing much more than which end of the spatula to hold.    

Happy as I am to eat exotic things, and play with strange and sometimes bewildering flavours and techniques, I love simple home cooking – I don’t really care whose house it is, or where it might be located.  I love the hospitality involved in sharing food with people.  I’m thrilled when someone cooks even the simplest of fare for me, or shares a recipe.  Yes, things don’t always work out quite right, and my cooking is no exception  – anyone can kill a pot of broccoli by forgetting to turn the heat down in a timely fashion, or end up juggling things that need critical attention at the same time – but you learn, and eat, and move on.  And, of course, you can always pour more wine!