Master chef - Talking Out Loud

On Becoming Master-Chef II

I tried calling my mum, but there was no signal cos I was in a village. “Dear lord, please, do not put me to shame,” I prayed. I knew my mom made egusi, using different methods, but my memory decided to fail me, as I wasn’t sure of which step came first.

Eventually, I went with the frying method–this remains my best method, because it saved in time of distress– You should have seen my excitement when whatever I did started to look like soup, and tasted like one. I was feeling fly, until it was time to slice the vegetable. What was a girl going to do? I still didn’t know how to handle a knife properly. I don’t remember exactly how I went about it, but I did it, and I remember leaving the kitchen with at least, two cuts and chipped nails, from cutting onion and vegetable.

So, people ate my food and not one soul was mourned, nobody had diarrhoea. It was in fact, a big win. Nobody, but one annoying human, complained. He, with so much entitlement, said I didn’t put enough salt– it was at this point I decided I didn’t like him, and we couldn’t be friends. I remember telling him something was wrong with his taste buds, cos the salt in that food was the perfect amount.

Just imagine the audacity, if only he knew the kind of battles I fought in that kitchen, he would not have opened that mouth without thinking first. It wasn’t even the comment that grazed my heart, it was how he said it, like he paid me to cook for him. He could have even appreciated my effort first, before criticizing. I guess he was busy learning how to cook at ten, instead of learning good manners.

Well, that marked the start of my cooking journey. Though I’m inconsistent, whenever I decide to visit the kitchen, I perform magic. If I hadn’t been alone for three months, during the first phase of lockdown, it would have been about a year and one month since I last cooked.

Just two days ago, I decided to check if I still had it in me, cos my little cousins’ comments would not stop ringing in my head. Those little cupcakes of mine didn’t think their dear aunt could cook, they didn’t even trust me enough to prepare their cereal when I volunteered to give them breakfast one morning. The eldest asked, “Auntie Ekata, can you even cook?” At least, he was kind enough to ask. The younger one was very certain I couldn’t cook, cos he exclaimed, “but auntie Ekata can’t even cook!” and I felt that in my soul as I burst into laughter.

I couldn’t blame them, after all, all I do in the kitchen is to take food to eat. Even I, started to doubt that I could cook. Guess who came asking for more after tasting the magic I made…

Two plates of magic, created by the Masterchef herself… Presentation is the best part of cooking, for me.

To be honest, I was kind of concerned that I would flop, but then, I remembered that my God never flops. And oh boy! I dey cook! This isn’t bluff, trust me.

If you’re wondering why my mum cut me some slacks in the kitchen, it’s because there were more important things to teach me, like good manners and values. She’s of the belief that, cooking can be learnt at anytime, it isn’t rocket science, but good character is something one has to build early. And my mom is always right, cos look at me! This doesn’t mean I don’t have my bad days in the kitchen, and I’m sure this is same for everyone.

Cooking is obviously an essential skill everyone should have, for survival, especially when you can’t afford to pay for the service.

If you missed the first part of this story, you can read up on On becoming Master-Chef , to get yourself acquainted before scrolling down.

Have you caught up yet? If yes, you can proceed to the end. If no, please, go back and open that link (I’m not begging, I really just care about you and do not want you to feel left out😉).

Now that you’ve read the complete story, do you think it is important to start learning to cook at a very young age or you, like my mum and I, think it can be learnt at anytime?

Before you answer that, here’s a bit of unsolicited advice for you, especially for aspiring mothers: Focus on raising your kids to be good humans first, before any other thing. Teach them the same values.

Never let your training be about ‘is this how you’ll be doing in your husband’s house?’ ‘If you can’t cook in your husband’s house, your husband’s family will send you packing’ and I’m sure you’re familiar with other instances, so I won’t bore you with them.

Apparently, the major reason most mothers put so much pressure on their girls at very young ages, is for them to be the perfect ‘100 yards wife material,’ while they let their boys be anyhow cos ‘Boys Will Be Boys.’ They forget to let their children–girls– be children, in the process… Well, I didn’t plan for this to become a TED talk, but here we are– free unsolicited advice, or you can call it ‘TED talk,’ for zero kobo. You’re welcome.

Now, back to the question. Let me know what you think and drop your answers in the comment section.

On Becoming Master-Chef

“I have to wake up by 4:30, every morning, to cook and get myself and my younger ones ready for school,” Lola said. I looked at her in disbelief, and to confirm that I heard right, I asked, “so you made this food?” Referring to her lunch. She laughed and replied “yes na. I cooked it myself.” I couldn’t help but wonder if her mom was late or if she lived with her step mom, cos why else would a fifteen year old be dealing with so much responsibility already? So I voiced out my thought and asked “what of your mummy?” Again, she laughed and was probably wondering what kind of ridiculous question that was, and still laughing she said “my mother cannot be waking up to cook for me na.” “Wow!” I exclaimed in my head, while trying to process the information.

I later discovered that out of the few that still carried lunch to school, in my class, I was probably the only one who didn’t make the food herself. I also found out that some had been doing that since junior school (imagine my shock).

At that age, I was still struggling to make proper Eba, without koko — trust me, this was a very difficult time in my life. I couldn’t even cut onions into thin slices. Slicing leafy vegetables was totally out of it. I hardly ever cooked beans to be soft enough, to not cause heartburns. Well, my white rice game was fair enough. I could make stew, though a few times, I never let the salt be great. And I only cooked during holidays and occasionally on weekends.

Now you see why I thought cooking regularly for your family at that age was strange. I mean, I could not even prepare custard or pap without cooking it on fire, after pouring hot water into the mix —Making it without koko was a big struggle, I always needed to say a few Hail Marys for that.

Despite my obviously poor culinary skill, my mum never failed to commend my effort. She’d tell me I did better than she expected, that I really tried and with time, and more practice, I’d be a pro. She sometimes told me my food would have tasted better than her’s, if only I had added a little more salt. This helped my confidence, she left me convinced that I had her very good culinary skills in my genes. She told me I was a natural at it. And guess what, she didn’t lie, all I needed was practice.

I started cooking properly, at seventeen. I made mistakes, and learnt from them.

The first time I cooked soup, it was Egusi soup, and it was for over fifteen people. It was a very funny experience, I remember fidgeting around the kitchen and wanting my mummy to be there so bad. A lot of things ran through my head; is this how I’m going to shame my mother, after all the home training and love put into raising me?

I could have written an essay of not less than 5,000 words, ending with ‘had I known’, in that moment —Had I known, I’d have listened to my mother, all those times she asked me to sit and watch her cook. I shouldn’t have let my coconut head win. I wished I didn’t argue that I didn’t need to watch a second time, to know how to prepare a meal. I shouldn’t have given her the condition that I’d stay in the kitchen only if she lets me do the cooking. But it was too late.

My God! What was I even thinking when I agreed to be a volunteer? Did I think I was going to cook just stew, rice and pasta?

I tried calling my mum for help, but there was no signal cos I was in a village… To Be Continued.

Watch out for my next post, to find out if it ended in premium tears. You can also subscribe to my blog to get notifications. You certainly would not want to miss the follow-up post— just do it, subscribe now.