So it should come as no surprise that today's post is about another short-lived if intense attempt to become domestic goddess of my home. The trigger? Passing an allotment with a pile of the largest courgettes I've ever seen, nestling against some beetroot, and a sign saying 'Please help yourself'. We did. 'I'll freeze them', I blithely informed the man of the house, ignoring the inner voice informing me that doubtless the vegs would lie in the kitchen until they rotted, not looking at his face, expecting his expression to mirror my doubts.
The following day, I found freezer bags, ice cubes and set about slicing and blanching courgettes, plunging them into ice cold water, mopping the surplus fluid and slipping the slices into the bags, then bunging them in the freezer.
At first it felt that I'd unwittingly slipped back fifty years or so to a time when, if we can believe television advertising, such activity might produce in any 'real' woman, an inner glow, a feeling of worthiness, which would last until that time when she'd slip under the duvet, content in the knowledge that her day had been put to excellent use, her femininity proportionate to the number of whiter-than-white washings completed, the immaculately vacuumed carpets and spotless windows, the home made roast and steamed pudding, and the deliciously large pile of ironing undertaken while listening to The Archers.
I fantasied about making stuffed courgettes, Russian Borscht beetroot soup, courgette cake, perhaps compensating for the time when I grumbled to my partner that although his bringing home fresh peas was well-intentioned, I begrudged spending forty minutes shelling them and that he must have got me confused with someone who had nothing better to do with her time.
But I digress. Half way through what turned out to be a more time-consuming task than anticipated, I found myself wondering if all the hard work was worth it. Of course we'd probably saved about £10 for the vegetables. But when I deducted the cost of gas to blanch, freezer bags and added to that my time, rated at £20 per hour, I became aware that perhaps such noble efforts were partly counter-productive. And for this reason, I shouldn't expect myself to research recipes for raspberry jam, mango chutney, tablet.
Life is all about balance, I reminded myself as I wrestled with the idea that I wasn't cut out to be a Tom or Barbara from The Good Life, exulting in any garden successes. I would continue to buy fresh vegetables (backed up with frozen ones) and earnestly prepare and cook them. I would continue to believe in the maxim 'back to basics' where cooking is concerned, but in moderation. As for Tesco's, doubtless I'll continue to purchase our jams and chutneys and sauces from them, not to mention the convenience main courses for days when I simply can't be bothered to cook.
It's important to know and accept your limits.
Jane
No comments:
Post a Comment