Perhaps it’s my Vietnamese upbringing that has convinced me that cooking for the home is part of a woman’s role. Now, feminists, please put your posters down. I’m not suggesting that every woman should cook. Personally, I’ve always imagined my husband coming home from work, excited for the dinner I’ve prepared for him. Our beautiful children would set the table, one playing the piano while the other gently plucks the violin strings.
Fortunately, I’ve met a man who sees things this way too. Perhaps his fantasy doesn’t quite extend to the perfectly behaved, musically gifted offspring, but I know he appreciates a woman who enjoys cooking. The funny thing is, while I pictured myself becoming a wife who cooked, I was actually completely uninterested in cooking. The thought of clumsy me handling sharp knives and open flames was slightly terrifying. I had no business being in a kitchen and assumed I’d learn when the time came.
When I moved into my own place, the time finally came. I soon discovered that cooking was one of the most rewarding hobbies I’d ever picked up. Not only did it satisfy me creatively, but it also brought joy to my better half. Cooking for two is much more enjoyable (and economical) when there’s someone to share it with. The best part about cooking is seeing the happiness in his eyes as he tastes something I’ve made. I totally wok his world!