Cooking decent food

There’s been a slow conversation in comments on my earlier post referencing Jamie Oliver’s program about teaching the lower classes (damned straight I have used those words deliberately) how to cook. (Thanks again to Idiot / Savant for pointing the article out to his readers.) The “how to get people to cook” theme has been picked up by another friend, Che, at Object Dart. I blame you, he says. He argues that it’s not necessarily wealth that makes the difference, but the sort of person you are. Good food is readily available, it is comparatively cheap, in some cases the knowledge is lacking, but all too often, it’s not the knowledge that’s the problem, so much as the desire to do something different, to make an effort, to spend the time and energy to cook decent food. Che argues that it’s just as easy to be wealthy and unhealthy as it is to be poor and unhealthy. His solution – we need to create a society that cares more about food, that celebrates preparing food, that gets involved in the food chain. People need to be pressured to think about food, not just stuff it in their gobs. And that includes us.

Of course, there are people who are already doing their best to get us to think about food. Stephanie Alexander and Barbara Kingsolver spring to mind. (My mother doesn’t write a blog, so I can’t hat tip her, but I can tell you that she was the person who put both women’s books into my hands.)

But I feel uncomfortable with Che’s solution. And the reason is that I think that all it will do is add to the pressure on women. Cook, clean, knit, sew, look after the children, go out and earn an income, come home at night, under pressure because there are tasks at work still not done, but the kids must be collected from school, or after-school care, or day care, and then, turn around and cook a nutritious, tasty meal.

Believe me, I know all the tips for getting good meals on the table, fast, after a long day at work. I can stir fry, assemble, pan fry and quick bake with the best. I prepare menus a week at a time, I shop to that menu, I know what I need to pick up fresh on my way home. On the weekends, I make huge batches of bolognese, or stew, or lasagne, and freeze the extra portions. I get evening meals half prepared in the mornings, while I am grabbing some breakfast for myself (on a good day), and getting the school lunches organised. School lunches are a mission in themselves: I bake muffins and put them in the freezer, so that I can pull them out and pop one into each lunchbox, and I always have home baked biscuits on hand. Home baked, because then I know what my children are eating: it’s good, honest, butter and sugar that I have put in myself, and not a preservative in sight.

I have all the knowledge. I enjoy cooking, as you might have noticed from the food posts on this blog. Mr Strange Land and I make an effort to sit down with our daughters for our evening meal (our girls have been happily named the strangelings by Tigtog, which soubriquet I intend to use from now on when referring to the collective mass of our children). I don’t carry the sole responsibility for cooking in our household: Mr Strange Land cooks regularly, and cooks well, and cooks with enjoyment.

And yet, in all honesty, sometimes even with all the knowledge, even with all the organisation, even if we have all the ingredients available, sometimes when we get home, we are just too damned tired to cook. Especially when there’s a whole host of other activities that must be gotten through: reading and spelling with the Misses Seven, encouraging Miss Ten to do her homework and spend a little time on her piano practice, putting some washing through, supervising teeth brushing and baths (less onerous now than when they were younger, but nevertheless still requiring parental input), reading a story to the strangelings, tucking them into bed. All these activities are required for good parenting, too.

It ain’t so easy, even with all the knowledge, and all the resources. Even now when I am not in permanent or full time paid employment, it still takes more of an effort than you might realise: the problem that has no name can strike hard.

So what do I want, from Jamie Oliver, and other concerned foodists?

A little understanding. A little realising that preparing good food three times a day, every day, takes a huge amount of effort. A little thinking that adding one more social pressure to working parents may result in nothing more than parents who are even more stricken with the thought that somehow, they are not doing it right.

I agree with the basic point that Jamie Oliver and Che are making. We do need to make a serious effort to feed ourselves, and our children, good food. But please, recognise the effort that it takes.

Update: Stef adds to the conversation with Confessions of a former junk food junkie.