There was a time when I loved to cook and actually collected recipes from the New York Times and Woman's Day, and tried them. Even hunted for exotic ingredients. But once I began to spend a lot of time in the darkroom, I began to hate cooking. It is too much like developing film and making prints. In front of a sink. Following directions. Measuring. Waiting. Stirring. Using a million utensils. Now when I have friends over, I buy food that takes very little preparation. All I have to do is unwrap it, or at most, put it under the broiler with a little paprika. I order it by phone and have it delivered.
From time to time I buy feast dishes from a Middle Eastern restaurant in Central Square. I go down there with my pots and bowls and they fill them up. At first, I felt a little self-conscious about not spending hours chopping, shopping, and preparing. It robs a conversation if when people begin to rave about your cous cous, you say you bought it the hour before. Aside from not liking to cook, I get thrown by all the confusion of preparing a meal for children and adults, from having so little practice, I suppose. When it's mealtime and the Meader, Power, or Gordon children converge on the kitchen, I get out my camera. While I sit in the corner and take pictures of it all, the parents, Nancy/Abbott, Janie/John, Gail/Norman calmly take over. It's the only way it would work.
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