On the Table: Find contentment in everyday cooking

“The rhythm and expectations that daily cooking creates are more than mere routine. They are rituals that give a sense of security and belonging.” If you resolve to do anything this new year, resolve to make more meals from scratch, writes Cambridge Cookery’s Tine Roche

Here we are, approaching another new year, with some dread, possibly and unavoidably, but also, hopefully, with a sense of joy and purpose. The alternative, as the saying goes, is a lot worse. We all make decisions about what we would like to experience and achieve, out of necessity as well as out of choice. The sense of new beginnings and all of that can be both positive and negative.

January is the season for self-fulfillment gurus and new/better/slimmer/healthier/more successful you guides. But as most of us (sociopaths and narcissists excluded) know, our own sense of purpose is linked to our interaction with others. The lucky ones get that from work.

The phrase “random acts of kindness and senseless acts of beauty” was coined by Californian writer Anne Herbert in the late ‘80s. I will never forget the first time I saw the words, written on a wall as graffiti. It stopped me in my tracks and I thought they were quite simply the most beautiful words I had ever read.

It is safe to say that I am very much a realist, a pragmatic and also an impatient person inclined to dismiss as banal nonsense any new-age or self-help phraseology. However, the call to practice not just acts of kindness and beauty, but for those acts to be random, uncalled-for and unexpected, well that is just a very uplifting message.

I think one of the kindest things we can do for children is to make them resilient and competent in the small tasks of everyday life. Simple everyday competence - such as being able to change the inner tube of a bike, popping to the shops for washing-up liquid or cereal as a result of spotting that stocks at home are low, and preparing a simple snack or meal from scratch - bring a sense of achievement and independence; so much better than constant reliance on adults to pave the way in every aspect of life.

I learnt to cook by spending time in the kitchen, watching, smelling, tasting. Sitting in the kitchen while doing homework was a joy, if, that is, my mother was back from work. I was, as were all my friends brought up in Scandinavia, a “latch-key kid”. As a rule, both parents worked and we children let ourselves in when we came home from school. There were no snack packs or microwave meals to feast on and I have vivid memories of asking “When is dinner?”, because I was ravenous. I suppose consequently, even the simplest meal tasted divine.

The rhythm and expectations that daily cooking creates are more than mere daily routine. They are rituals that give a sense of security and belonging.

I was fed so very well at home that there was no need for me to cook until I went to university. I felt homesick, even though Uppsala was only one hour by train from home, and I cured that by replicating the dishes I missed. Learning how to make a mean meringue, crème pat, flour-thickened sauces, shortcrust pastry and yeast-risen breads not only helped with the homesickness, but also gave me a sense of achievement and competence.

Cooking also became a welcome and acceptable excuse to take a break from my studies. I found to my surprise that I was able to take pleasure from eating alone. Even more rewarding was inviting others to eat what I had cooked. Cooking for others became a real source of joy. There was a plan for a “100 Ways with Eggs” students’ cookery book, as so much of what I made seemed to celebrate eggs - pasta carbonara, lemon meringue pie, quiche, scrambles and omelettes were all staple dishes.

I think that everyday meals, often humble, sometimes made from leftovers, always delicious, are daily acts of kindness and beauty, whether being undertaken for oneself or for others.

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