The Lost Art of Slow Cooking
In a world of fast everything, my family’s recipes are likely to fade away on the back burner.
When I was young, I remember my mother spending hours in the kitchen, patiently waiting for meringues to rise in the oven or for the beef bourguignon to marinate on the stove, allowing the alcohol to dissipate so the kids don’t get tipsy — before you frown, know that it was the eighties and I come from France where many traditional recipes include wine.
But those golden years are behind us now, and my mum now only cooks for my father and herself, dividing her time spent in the kitchen in two… if not more, since she got her Thermomix!
Ah, the glorious days of modern technology, when a machine provides the assistance that once belonged to our grandmas. But why ask your biological parent for help when a $2000 robot can do the job for you without any criticism?
I don’t judge my mum; I understand that she no longer has the desire to spend that much time in one of the smallest rooms of the house after so many decades of cooking for us.
Maybe she lost the desire because she knows the end is nearing, and the precious years left should be spent doing something more fun than sacrificing herself for the family (like playing Candy Crush).
