Sunday, 25 November 2012

Why the Rush

Lately I've noticed my attempts at cooking all too often end up being focussed on getting the process over
with quickly. I don't know why I'm in such a tearing hurry these days, and I have no idea when things changed. However, judging by the increasing number of half-made and ready-made dishes appearing on the shelves of local supermarkets and the success of Jamie Oliver's new whipping-up-dinner-in-15-minutes gambit, I doubt if I'm alone.

Once upon a time I didn't approach the task with the same frantic urgency. I enjoyed the actual process of cooking, without fretting about the time involved. I didn't keep telling myself there was something more important I ought to be doing. The pleasure was, of course, still in the eating, but it was also in the pottering about that led to the eating. I used to spend long intervals in the kitchen with the radio droning in the background. I chopped things and melted stuff, I stirred and pureed, I layered and smoothed and listened to the cricket or the book reading (don't axe it, you cretinous vandals) or Sunday Story (nor this, you bean-counting creeps - new Creative Audio Unit, my foot).

I don't know what's changed in my life.  Somehow now I'm always chivvying myself, scurrying towards the endlessly recurring finish-line and the washing-up bowl beyond.

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