Will baking make me a better mother?
Hollywood superstar Gwyneth Paltrow adorns the media waxing lyrical about the joys of cooking as she promotes her own home-grown, family-inspired cook book. Actress Lisa Faulkner wins Celebrity Masterchef and launches herself into the role of domestic goddess. Women like this manage to work, workout and weave wonders in the kitchen all at the same time. And invariably the illustrations for their recipes will include the wonder women baking with her children – for what better sign of the ideal mother than one who bakes for her brood?
Does this make me feel inadequate as a woman, wife and mother? You bet it does. And it’s not just Gwyneth and Lisa sticking the knife in. Oh no, my daughters have been doing that for some time.
“Why can’t you cook us proper meals like Laura’s mother does?” (Why does everyone else’s mother appear to be perfect?); “Why do we always have to have the same thing for dinner” (because you refuse to eat anything else, maybe?); “You’re a useless cook”. Yes, I know – I should beat them and send them to bed without supper but I can’t help thinking they have a point.
Cooking has long been associated with nurturing. It’s no longer a simple case of staving off starvation, of bringing home the bacon to ensure your offspring have the basics to survive. It’s apparently now all about demonstrating your love for your family, your highly developed nurturing skills, your qualifications as a domestic goddess.
A recent survey suggests that one in six British women struggles to master the art of cooking, unable to serve up the variety of dishes that half of them admit their mothers would have no problem with. As usual the survey cites the busy lives we lead as a reason for our inability to make a meringue.
Working as a freelance television executive I can generally play the working mother card. Who has time to learn new recipes let alone put them into practise? However as a producer of cookery shows and at one-time the editor of ITV’s ‘This Morning’, I have discussed, produced, viewed and de-briefed on hundreds of recipes and cookery demonstrations with just about every celebrity chef known to TV viewers. Furthermore I am currently not working so lack of time is no longer an excuse.
Maybe it’s all about what we learned at our mother’s knee. My mother was a widow with children and a job. Her culinary offerings were basic. There are certainly no recipes passed down the generations in our family – unless you count mince and potatoes all mashed up (our childhood favourite). So does this mean my lack of effort in the kitchen will pass on a similar apathy to my children? I fear it will.
Our current routine is simple. They fend for themselves at breakfast – how hard can it be putting some bread in the toast or pouring milk over cereal? The school canteen caters for lunch – although the children seem to think I should be making packed lunches for them. Evening meals are generally provided during the week following a well-worn pattern: pizza (shop-bought), baked potatoes with cheese and beans; sausage and chips (frozen), chicken curry (sauce from a jar) on a Friday, pasta when we run out of ideas (which is a lot of the time) and the odd roast chicken dinner thrown in for good measure. If we can’t be bothered, we’ve been known to send them down to the local chippie. Is that so bad? Probably. Especially if it’s for the third time that week.
So there’s only one thing for it. It’s time to start baking, cooking, nurturing. If I inspire my children with new recipes, include them in the creativity of the kitchen, maybe they will be inspired to pass it on to their children. If I spend more time cooking for them maybe they will feel more loved and cared for. It is my job to start a whole new virtuous circle. But can I do it?
I shall give it a go for a week. Will the process of cooking bring out the earth mother in me? Will it enhance my life as well as that of my children? Let’s see if baking makes me the perfect mother…..
Day One
Might as well dive into the deep end: today I’m baking bread. I have cooked with yeast only once before while at college. The goal was a home-made pizza base. The dough didn’t seem to rise as it ought so I kept adding more yeast layered on top of the base. The end result required a hammer and chisel.
Within ten minutes (I’m hoping to turn dried yeast into active yeast) I have managed to cut my thumb – and I’m not even using a knife. Following all the instructions I try and turn my dough out onto a board to knead – but most of it remains stuck to my hands. I’m guessing this is not a good sign….
There are endless instructions at various stages to leave the dough to rise. This could take all day. The cook book I am using is over 30 years old. It’s possible there are quicker ways to bake bread now but as I say I am no domestic goddess and therefore do not own modern cook books!
The dough is eventually forced into tins and into the oven just before the kids come home. Perfect timing. They should enter the house to smells of freshly baking bread.
“I’m making bread.” I inform my youngest with a self-satisfied smirk. “Will this make me the perfect mother?”
“No,” she replies “only if you make cookies and cupcakes.”
Oh.
The youngest has a good line in put-downs. Her sister has an even better command of a sharp tongue but fortunately she is in a good mood. Points for being a perfect mother, I ask?
“8. It’s OK.” High praise indeed.
Do I feel more virtuous for having baked my own bread? Yes, I think I do.
What on earth shall I cook tomorrow? And will my children feel the love?
