Turf Wars

So it’s semester break for a whole lot of days, and I’m just here being a potato. I eat (potatoes), watch TV, play games and sleep. I’m just existing. My sister bought a crapload of chocolates from the Dubai Duty-Free last week, which is nice. A never-ending supply of chocs and semester break; woot.

Anywho, I like to cook. I’m also a good cook. I don’t like following recipes and just go with what’s available. I always end up with yummy things, which is cool if I say so myself. However, one thing I’ve figured out, after a lot of experience, mind you, is that it’s only fun to cook when there’s someone else to clean up the kitchen afterwards.

There is also another problem with my creative cooking endeavors. The Momzilla. The kitchen is my mother’s territory. Even now, after she ‘retired’ from cooking (by her own will), letting my sister-in-law take over that post, she is the Supreme Queen of the Stoves.

She’s always just there in the kitchen. She isn’t cooking, or cleaning, or whatever. She just stands in the middle and oversees her minions doing the work while dropping in some useful “instructions”. These oh-so-helpful instructions usually insinuate that I am doing everything wrong occasional taunts about what I’m doing. “Hold the sieve like this”, “Use less water, it’s a waste”, “Why do you put in the salt in pinches? Just fill the spoon and throw it in”, “Peel the potatoes with a knife, not the peeler.” Mother, it is a potato peeler, used to peel potatoes quickly, why should i not use it to peel the potatoes? Yeesh. 

Once I asked her what exactly was she doing in the kitchen, to which she replied in a an offended way that she was here to drink water and that I can’t stop her from drinking water. She then filled the glass to the brim and stood there, sipping, while her eyes followed my every move. Well played, mother, well played.

In her eyes, the kitchen is still her territory, and we are just the hired hands doing her work. She oversees us like a plantation owner would his slaves in pre-Civil War America. (Okay, I admit I’m overreacting but I just saw 12 Years a Slave again)

My sister-in-law is now used to mother’s territorial traits. I, however, get annoyed very easily. Just today I was straining the pasta while the sauce was bubbling on the stove, when she came over and stood at my elbow and started rushing me saying the sauce would burn if I take so long. I knew the sauce wasn’t even close to burning yet, so I firmly told her that she was not needed in the kitchen. To which she replied that she was just waiting for the leftovers to finish re-heating in the microwave.

Okay mother, you win.

Next time I cook, I’ll use that magical instrument of ignorance known as earphones.