My Complex Relationship with Cooking: How I found the Freedom to Break Away

“Aren’t you going to serve him first?” my mother asked as I was about to take a bite of the delicious meal she had made in our house.

“Huh?” I said, confused.

“Aren’t you going to offer your husband first?”

“This is his house, too. I’m not going to treat him as a guest.” I responded.

Her question felt strange, but I understood where it came from. I had watched her do the same thing countless times growing up.

More Than a Meal

Where I grew up, food was never just a meal. It was how we connected, how we showed love, how we celebrated.

During festivals, after working most of the morning to prepare a delicious buffet of food, my grandmother would fill the plate with a sample of each and serve it as an offering to god before we could try it.

I could walk in the door from school and figure out from the aromas whether she was making dal, frying potatoes, or pakoras. She took pride in the dishes she made, the recipes passed down from her mother.

In India, people often express their love through home-cooked meals. You may never hear parents say ‘I love you,’ but when your mother makes your favorite dish, it’s her way of saying it.

I don’t remember any guest leaving home without being offered at least chai and snacks. It’s a way of welcoming them into your home, even if they stop by unannounced, which often happens.

A Silent Act of Rebellion

Despite growing up in a culture like this, I realized that my relationship with cooking as an adult is entirely different. Cooking triggers me, and not in a good way. 

If I spent two hours making a meal, I would no doubt be angry, unhappy, and exhausted by the end of it. 

Watching my mom and the other women in my family cook and serve the men left a lasting impression on me.

These women, who spent a long time preparing delicious meals, served their husbands first, then their kids, and only ate afterwards. So, for me, being in that role meant I was not as important as the others.

My dad would sometimes announce that he was bringing someone over for breakfast or lunch, and my mom would have to accommodate them.

Even though she had help at times, I could sense that she was stressed and felt rushed because she had to cook on such short notice. It felt like she had no choice in the matter.

Not cooking for others feels like a silent act of rebellion — a way of saying I won’t be that person.

The Weight of the Kitchen

It’s not that I can’t cook; I just don’t enjoy it. I get angry, wondering why I’m doing all the work while everyone else sits around.

When I cook for myself, I’m not frustrated. It’s mostly for survival or self-love. I don’t mind cooking for my son either. It feels like an act of love, caring for him. 

But if I have to cook for my whole family, I am inevitably triggered. I am also physically tired and have to deal with back pain if I stand on my feet for more than an hour. Altogether, it makes cooking feel like a heavy, uneasy chore.

Understand Our Triggers

There were times when I was invited to potlucks. I would force myself to make something so I felt like I’d contributed. But it always left me tired and grumpy, even before I arrived.

Reflecting on my triggers has helped me set boundaries. I enjoy spending time with friends, but I also want to be fully present with them when they visit. If I spend two to three hours cooking, I can no longer be in a sane state of mind to enjoy their company.

I’ve learned to work around them by ordering in or bringing something store-bought.

I no longer feel guilty. It’s not who I am. During holidays, I enjoy a special home-cooked meal with my family. We plan and divide tasks evenly so I don’t feel stressed when we finally sit down to eat.

Cooking on My Terms

Even though cooking frustrates me, I occasionally call my mother to learn how to make dishes I loved as a child. I can see how those conversations light her up, though she understands I don’t share the same enthusiasm.

I appreciate the art of cooking and enjoy shows like Chef’s Table. The devotion towards perfecting any craft is appealing to me.

But I don’t share the same desire to perfect my cooking. And I am ok with that. I am ok with being different from what my culture expects.

Choosing What to Keep

When my mother asked if I was going to serve my husband first, she was only going by what she knew. Understanding my cooking triggers helped me decide which traditions I want to keep and which I want to let go of.

Our triggers give us a chance to reflect, understand, and choose how we proceed with our lives.

Which cultural expectations in your life are you choosing to keep, modify, or set aside?