– bucatini con pomodorini e origano
– spaghetti al limone
– penne carbonara
– spaghetti alle vongole in bianco
these are some of the dishes i don’t cook. these dishes are the specialties of my husband’s, which he learned from this nice cookbook called “the river cafe cookbook” from a very famous italian restaurant in london.
it is like an unspoken rule between us that i wouldn’t dare touch them, as we both agree that it is the best this way so that we can avoid any feeling of rivalry between us (i.e. “who can make it better?” kind of remarks, which is very petty i know, but can be a critical cause of a big fallout). also, i realise that it is really nice from time to time that someone else stands in the kitchen and cooks something for you.
what i find very charming is that each time he cooks these dishes, he has to go back to the recipe even if he has made them numerous times in the past. every time he glares at the cookbook and follow the procedure very precisely or i should rather say very loyally (he worships the food there), concentrating very hard as if there is absolutely nothing else which can disturb him at the very moment.
i love to watch him cook. my favorite time of a day.
lately i’ve been having a hard time at work. the problem itself is very ambiguous, and i cannot specify what exactly triggered this feeling of perplexity. i often feel that i don’t belong there, and am not needed. perhaps it is coming from an accumulation of ongoing frustrations towards minor, yet a number of issues involved in my work life.
in such circumstances especially, it is a great relief to come home and to be totally away from the problematic environment (and i am truly grateful that it is not the opposite). on my way back home on my small bike, i looked up at our apartment window and saw a gentle orange glow inside. although the apartment was in an imminent distance, i couldn’t wait to get there. it was exactly the place i wanted to be, to unwind, fully relax, and most importantly, feel secure.
my husband is an architect and his job is to design & build houses. it is a great, admirable profession which contributes to the society in a larger context. he produces a physical place for dwelling where people start to build up their lives for years and years. but a house is still a practical tool and can be quite cold and soulless. only when it is filled with life, with intangible values such as comfort, leisure, peace and contentment, it finally starts to form a real “home”.
the rich aroma from a cooking pot, the sound of a kettle with boiling water, the warmth of your bed, the view of your laundry outside the window… these things seemingly so meaningless are the core essence to create a home. maybe i, no matter how insignificant i may feel from time to time in a professional life, can perhaps be an architect to build up a great home. i can finally feel that i am contributing. finally, i mean something, to someone, at home.