Cooking is not always creating a classy dish from scratch. It is sometimes just putting things together, warming up some goodness in a bowl, or mixing up some happiness to serve on a platter. This is my take on how wonderful a life it would be, if only we remembered more often, to treasure the happiness in every experience, and to make that the highlight of each day.
Being married to the love of your life makes life worth it, especially when it involves lazy weekends and good weather. Such moments of ecstasy bring out the nurturer in me, and I go that extra mile to use the time to show the love. This has resulted in many peaceful mornings, where we take in all the pleasure that little joys have to offer, and we happily realise that the life we've always dreamt of, is the life we are living at the moment.
Some of these mornings offer a calling at re-creating the simple goodness on a plate. It may be just some fried eggs, or some bacon, but the fact remains that we don't hold back when we do this. And this is what makes my life so worth living. I love the sense of discovery, time and time again, that I have a perfect partner holding my hand while we face a world full of beautiful possibilities, that a major part of happiness is what we create, and that this morning is a new shot at just that. It is at such a point of self actualisation that I found myself in the kitchen, with a skip in my step and a sense of peace in my heart, to put together something simple and wholesome for our palettes.
After coffee was done, and we took the call to eat some food, I walked to the fridge to take stock. I realised that we had quite a lot of ingredients on hand, and the choices were good. I considered pancakes, but the day called for something greasy and satisfying, especially since we had the TV and couch calling us for lethargic rendezvous . The decision came naturally, that we would resort to our choicest of fats, and that I would put together a plate of happiness. In went the bread, the toaster set to its best. I was determined that I would get it golden just right this time, such a call being necessary with our faulty toaster. So while I reminded myself that I had to check on it in between, I got out the eggs and the tin of corned beef. I felt quite excited by then, as I knew that once I opened that tin and smelled the goodness, I would be raring to go. I had music playing on the boombox and in the core of my soul, as I set to making a breakfast I knew to create best. I added the usual bit of oil into the pan, willingly adding some extra layers of bad cholesterol for the sake of tasting the bliss in every bite. As I put out the beef into the sizzling oil, it was accompanied by a sigh of peace and the hint of a smile. I felt so content at doing this, at my own pace, knowing all along that we have even better things waiting once this was done. I always enjoy the process of cooking, and love the mindful movements, so as I fried the beef, I was in sync with the food in the pan. I gave myself a quick break to check on the bread, which was done to perfection by now. I continued to revel in the frying, enjoying every heightened sense of smell and texture that I could feel at the end of the spatula.
I took such pleasure in seeing the fat melt into the pan and add to the flavour of the meat while it sizzled. I appreciated to a degree beyond reasonable logic, the colour the meat turned into, a dark brown with a glaze at the edges. I had decided early on, not to add any caramelised onions or tomatoes and chillies like I sometimes did, as I wanted the flavour of the meat to be masked only by its own aroma. I wanted all of it to overpower and conquer, a battle within itself, to emerge stronger and victorious, all by itself. As it got done, and I transferred it onto my favourite plates, the hint of that smile had grown into a full-blown moment of glee. I quickly made the eggs before turning off the flame, here again, carefully getting the yolk to the centre, cooking it to the right degree - quite well fried for him, and just about done for me. I gave myself some self-love for remembering special preferences, and for giving it its due importance. As I slid those too onto the plate, I made sure that it was placed well, a feast for the eyes too. The yellow stood out well against the textured pattern on my plate, and that brought some extra joy to me, for whatever reason of the heart.
As I carried the plates out from the kitchen, I continued to marvel how amazing those few minutes in the kitchen were, leading to the perfect outcome in my hands. Th experience re-affirmed my faith that there is still some order in this world. It made me realise that I am still the wide-eyed teenager I used to be, who took pleasure in the littlest of experiences. Just like it was in the days when a single glance from my latest crush, was the highlight of my day. The little things, which become the bigger things. This, is important to me. This is what makes me who I am, and keeps me moving from one low to the next, whenever it hits. It is faith and hope; and the realisation that life is not about the big events, but is lived in the simplest moments of togetherness or solitude, when peace rules inside your being.
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