Having friends over and need to know how to provide for a vegetarian, a coeliac and a fussy child all in one go? Just pop into any high street bookshop and you will be faced with thousands of books on every possible aspect of cookery. Alternatively, you could tune into one of the many dedicated television channels and watch a celebrity chef effortlessly whisk up a seemingly idiot-proof feast suitable for all. Food has always been a vast industry, but it is only recently that "cheffy" ingredients and their preparation have been demystified. Nowadays, it is all about cooking good, wholesome meals using high quality ingredients - people are genuinely interested in ensuring that the plump, crimson tomatoes in their salad have been grown pesticide-free, and on which farm their meat was reared.
It is hard to explain why food is such an emotive and intricately complex subject, one that causes heckles to raise and passions to flair among otherwise ordinary folk. After all, at its most basic level, food sustains us; it gives us energy and is one of the three fundamental elements necessary for life itself. However, to many people, it is much more important than that.
I first became aware of food being something other than sustenance when I went away to school. The canteen provided enough calories to see us through the day, but you were never entirely sure what the gray slush oozing across your plate was. Every meal carried a certain sense of déjà vu - it did not seem to matter whether you asked the prune-like dinner lady for custard or carrots, turnips or trifle - it all tasted identical. My young, developing palette craved something more than that though: something that would spark my interest and do more than just keep me alive.
It was in the dark evenings when battered wooden tuck boxes came out and deals were done. I am positive many of today's captains of industry learned their negotiating skills whilst bargaining hard for a strawberry lace. After the dreary fare served in the dining hall, how exotic a mars bar seemed! What lengths one would go to for a pack of bourbons! I remember quite clearly one night a boy visiting the matron with a scratched eyeball and a dislocated finger, caused by scrapping violently for instant noodles.
Moving on to University, food again increased in importance. Here I was, in the great wide world, with nobody providing for me. I had to cook something, or I would fade away to nothing. At first, bravado had been yelling that a liquid diet was all that the modern undergraduate needed to fuel his journey into learning. Moreover, of course, there was the obligatory weekly kebab - some carbohydrate, some protein and the salad, which I presumed must have counted for at least one of my five-a-day. This lasted for just a few weeks, by which time I was yearning for a square meal. Something had to be done.
A hungry student can pick up skills in an amazingly short space of time when faced with such a desperate situation. There was also the small matter of being able to budget correctly when shopping. A supermarket was an alien place, full of strange ingredients, and my eyes widened in confusion as I faced raw, unprepared foodstuffs for the first time. Knowing that somehow I would have to heat them, peel them, stir them, fry them and boil them to create something vaguely edible was a daunting prospect. However, through a process of trial and error, counting pennies and many burnt fragments of goodness knows what, I slowly began to learn and improve.
Initially, a spaghetti Bolognese was some mince and something red from a jar. This was fairly tasty and seemed adventurous enough. One day though, I had some bacon left over. “Let's add that”, I thought, and I did. It transformed the dish. Then, slowly, I began to customize the sauce until it was not from a jar, but made entirely from fresh ingredients. I took huge pride in this, and would stand guard for hours over my pan, defending it from finger-poking attacks by my flat mates, whilst it simmered gently to a rich, deep red sauce.
I would imagine it is at this stage that many take to cooking, whereas some file it in their mind as a chore. I certainly began to take pleasure in it. How remarkable it was to create something that could warm you on a cold day or cheer you after the misery of a particularly boring lecture.
Another aspect of cookery became obvious to me at this stage. Cookery could make me popular, well-liked even! Certainly, my lack of knowledge of the subject I was studying - chemistry - and my lack of prowess in the laboratory had won me no admirers. I remember clearly my first Sunday roast when I had invited what dauntingly seemed like several dozen ravenous students to my digs. My nerves were as frazzled as the skin of the chicken (must remember: 170 is the temperature, not the cooking time…) as they crowded expectantly round my tiny plastic table. It was certainly not a gastronomic delight, but I took a huge amount of pleasure in seeing people really tuck in, have a second helping, then throw themselves back in their chair and gasp and clutch at their full bellies. People paid me compliments. I liked that.
