Role Reversal

Most people who know me know that I define myself as a feminist. (Side note: if you are a woman - or even a man for that matter- and you don't define yourself as a feminist, I am judging you. Harshly. Because if you are a woman and you don't believe in equal rights for women and men, well then you just don't have any self-respect). I don't believe in gender roles, ie a man bringing home the bacon and a woman cooking it, or a woman vacuuming the house while a man fixes appliances. In fact, and this is to glorify Rohit rather than any attempt to emasculate him, but in our apartment, I am the one who fixed the handle to the shoe cabinet last week while it's Rohit's responsibility to vacuum, since it's a job I detest. (For those who are interested, we share the the laundry role equally and we each clean our respective bathrooms). We both do love to cook. For different reasons and through different motions. I rely heavily on recipes, or at least for inspiration from foods I've eaten or recipes I've read, while Rohit is completely creative in the kitchen, using the cast iron pan as his personal white canvas. We both cook with the same intention, though, of providing a delicious, well thought out meal to fuel our tired, hungry bodies.

I read lots of food blogs. It's like porn for me. It's my form of procrastination, and I revel in it. During this, I pick up lots of recipes and ideas and I put them into a folder on my desktop I call "Yum?" The sad thing is, I have never ever had a chance to go through the entire catalogue. Try as I might, I always accrue more recipes than I have time to make. Especially when work gets in the way.

Advertising can be a very rewarding career. It pays well, but the catch is that you're expected to pull some mighty long hours. At my last job, this was certainly the case. It found me leaving the office sometimes at 8, 9, sometimes as late as 1 or 2 in the morning. Not conducive to a relaxing evening at home and certainly not conducive to unwinding while cooking a meal in the kitchen. So, certainly without conscious intent, with our schedules set such, Rohit took on the role of cooking, while I took on the role of collapsing in the front door and shoveling food in my mouth at some ungodly hour. Rohit nothing if not patient, and he would sometimes wait until midnight so we could eat dinner together. These were painstakingly made meals, from the crevices of his mind. One night, I came home at 12:15 to find him putting the finishing touches on a trio of tapas: turkey meatballs, scallop ceviche and a beet salad. Friends are always amazed when I tell them that he loves to cook and feed friends and family. But they are even more amazed when I tell them that he does the majority of the cooking in the household. In fact, I think I managed to shell shock my paternal grandmother when I told her that Rohit cooks. They've never met, but I think it's safe to say that he passes her books with flying colors with that simple fact in her gender role-ironed-cultural world: A man cooks?

Yes, ladies and gentlemen, a man cooks. Not only does he cook, but he cooks well. Not only does he cook well, but he enjoys it. Sometimes, when my guilt (and my embarrassment that he knows the spice rack a thousand times better than I ever will) gets the better of me and I offer to cook him dinner while he watches sports and unwinds with a beer, he can't help but loiter around the kitchen, sitting at the bar, coaxing me to tell him what he can do to help. I'm beginning to think it's physically impossble for him to be around a person cooking while he simply sits there (though this rule doesn't apply in restaurants, don't worry). Don't get me wrong, it's a great affliction to be blessed with.

Since my new job hasn't ramped up entirely and I'm not working crazy nights (yet, touch wood) I was able to cook for Rohit for an entire week, while HE worked later than usual and hit the road for his marathon training. This was role reversal as I knew it. The woman in the kitchen while the man came home for dinner. Unbelievable. But these are the rare nights, and I know this will not fall into a pattern. Though, some of the best times I have had in the kitchen are when the two of us are cooking together. On Valentine's Day last year, we made gnocchi, the same gnocchi that Sebastian taught me to make more than three years ago. It's the collaboration that's the most fun. But you sure can say that I am part of a forward-thinking relationship, and certainly a woman of 2009 when I have to beg my man to get out of the kitchen so that I can step in.