You are what I feed you...
I learned to cook because my adopted mother hated cooking. That reads like she hated cooking in some liberated way, so she never did it and I had to learn to wield a spatula in order to eat. Quite the opposite.
My mother believed firmly that women, once married, had a moral imperative to be housewives. So she always cooked. She just hated it. I grew up eating my mother’s resentment at every meal. Quality followed intention. Once, my brothers and I watched as she cut open a meatloaf and some sort of greyish ooze came out of the middle. She had baked bananas into it. We looked at each other and wondered “why does she hate us so much?”...
Read more at my blog: Red Zorah