When I was younger, my mom would insist that I help her cook dinner. She still does. During my most rebellious phase, I asked her, "Why do I have to learn how to cook chicken for the thousandth time?" "Because, Griff," she replied coolly, "girls like a man who can cook." Consequently, food is very important to me.
It seems as though every time I enter my house, I'm punched in the face by a wall of hypnotic smells. It could be from the downstairs girls, who cook different ethnic foods nightly, or it could be from my apartment upstairs, where some housemates experiment with fresh produce and spices to create something resembling eggplant parmesan.
I hate to feed stereotypes, but sometimes they just happen to be true. It's humbling, exciting and even a little frustrating that my female housemates are excellent homemakers. And I admire the maturity that comes along with making a great meal.
I'm not saying that I think, even for a second, that all girls are master chefs. But I happen to live with a few talented, generous people. And I hope I can steal a few of their secrets.
Last week, my kitchen, although not terribly clean, was heavenly. My housemate volunteered to bake hundreds of different types of cookies for her student group. There were doughy bowls on every countertop and sticky wooden spoons and spatulas lining the stove. But I couldn't be mad about the mess. My housemate had worked her butt off to make every type of cookie known to man. She tried an oatmeal, cranberry and white chocolate recipe which sent me into a tizzy. The pumpkin chocolate chip cookies were particularly popular. And when I asked her where she got these recipes, she replied rather nonchalantly, "Oh, these are just a few of my own."
Other girls in the house will buy special ingredients and find ways to incorporate them into dishes. And maybe I'm not a very picky eater, but they all turn out splendidly.
How do these girls know how to cook so well? The most complicated thing I've made this year has been a quesadilla — basically just bread and cheese. And these girls are acting like contestants on a competitive cooking show, trying to improve on old favorites and impress the judges. The best part is I'm the only judge.
No offense, Mom, but it seems as though girls like a man who can eat their delicious food.
My mom knows how to cook. My eight housemates know how to cook. Most of my other girl friends outside of the house regularly bake seasonal pies and succulent frittatas.
And my guy friends are mostly clueless. I remember one late night where my guy friends had a competition to figure out who made the best bananas foster. There were flames and melted butter and half-reduced pots of gritty caramel and smoking pans. And the result was a gooey mess. I still ate it, of course.
I have one guy friend who insists on following all of Betty Crocker's instructions. Baking is a science, after all. But look at my adventurous housemate, who took every sweet ingredient she could think of and created hundreds of tasty treats without instructions.
Even though my mom trained me well — I can fry a mean over-easy egg — I'm still overly cautious when I cook. And when I do cook, it's something simple and childish.
Most of my housemates agree: Cooking makes them feel grown-up. They like the feeling of providing themselves with something delicious and homemade. Us guys just need to grow up and start taking care of ourselves. Or maybe it's just me.
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Griffin Pepper is a senior majoring in political science. He can be reached at Griffin.Pepper@tufts.edu.
