my mother can burn water. she was not built or trained for housekeeping. her mother, my grandmother decided early on that she was destined for greater things and sent her off to school.
my mother kept us fed and managed not to burn too many meals for quite some time, when i had the temerity to ask my mother how come her food didn’t ever taste as good as my grandmother’s and how she always burned stuff.
my mother took offence and stopped cooking, told me if i was unsatisfied with the meals she prepared i could cook them myself. i whined and pouted but she stood her ground. so for the first couple of days i lived on crackers and cheese, but pride, sheer maliciousness and hunger drove me to my first experiment in the kitchen macaroni and cheese.
after that, it became a matter of experimenting with whatever was at hand. my culinary skills have grown since then, i’m a better cook than my mother and she’s readily admits it.
she’s always anxious for me to prepare one of my specialities. but her kitchen is far to cluttered and claustrophobic for me to honour that wish. i have on more than one occasion cooked elsewhere and brought her food and won the accolades of both her and the true domestic goddess in my lineage, my grandmother.