I am not a great enthusiast of cooking. Actually cooking is an endeavor that is quite forbidding for me. I have had several encounters while in the kitchen that I do not like to recall that make me avoid going into the kitchen.
The first incident was when I was a young boy. As a young boy I was very playful and most of the time I would be outside the house playing with other kids rather than in the house. I also had two elder sisters who were mostly called upon to assist in the household chores and so I was not very much needed in the house.
One day my mother needed to do some emergency shopping and my two sisters were not around since they had gone to visit some friends. The shop was not very far from our house and it would take my mother just a few minutes to get to the shop and back. She had been cooking some rice when she realized that the tomatoes she had would not be enough to make the vegetable stew. So she had to buy some more.
I was not trained in shopping for groceries and so she had to go to the grocery store and I in turn would supervise the cooking rice.
Obviously I was not happy to be interrupted from my play but I had to consent. I could however not fully concentrate with the task at hand and my mind was still on play as I watched over the cooking rice. We did not have an automatic rice cooker, the cooking was in a large aluminum pan over a gas burner.
I must have been absent minded for I was aroused from my day dream by the sound of the boiling rice water spilling on the gas burner.
The sound caused me to panic and without thinking I rushed to take the pot off the burner with my bare hands.
The hot pot burnt my little hands and I involuntarily let go of the pot. The hot pot fell to the floor spilling all the contents in the process. The hot water and rice badly burnt my legs. This was just the beginning, I still had my mother’s harsh scolding to wait for.
My mother gave me a long scolding before she realized that I was hurt and needed some medical attention. She hated carelessness and her scolding was worse than a beating.
The other incident that has stuck in my memory that has made me want to avoid the kitchen as much as possible is when as a teenage boy I dropped and damaged an ice cream maker in the home of a former girlfriend where she lived with her parents.
I was visiting and we had decided to make some ice cream together. She had asked me to help her carry the ice maker from the shelf where it was stored to the power source and somehow the ice cream maker had slipped from my grip. The expensive appliance had fallen heavily on the ground shattering the transparent display.
I was so embarrassed and guilt-ridden with the damage that I had I kept away from my girlfriend’s home since that day.