On how much I do like cooking… and what it means to me

I grew up in a home where there was a lot of people around, especially over weekends. My mom loves cooking (she still does) and any occasion called for making food and inviting friends and family over to come and celebrate.

I remember seeing everyone chatting, dishing up and having a good time. Sometimes causing such a ruckus that one could barely hear oneself think. But nevertheless it was great. My mom invited friends and family over for birthdays (man, birthday food was great!), Sunday lunches, braais, and sometimes even those ad hoc dinners where¬† the guests would still be there over dinnertime, and she’d just cook up a storm for everyone.

Today, I have my own place, and I would like to think that I am carrying on that tradition. It reminds me of good times, laughter, and all over happiness.

Hence, I’d rather cook birthday dinner or an anniversary dinner before going to a restaurant. It just feels more personal, and I love so see smiles and happy faces after a good meal. Of course also great company… and wine… there should always be wine. If I have friends over, there will always be snacks/cookies on the table…

In a way I have made this connection in my brain that preparing food and cooking/baking is happiness. It might be a misconception, but I love it.

Never thought I’d say it, but the kitchen is seemingly my happy place (or at least one of my happy places). Where I get the chance to be a domestic goddess and whip up extraordinary things that brings happiness and smiles to this world.

And of course, it’s the gateway to all things social to me.

One thought on “On how much I do like cooking… and what it means to me

  1. Pingback: On finding my balance again… | P(h)inking out loud

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