When things get tough, I tend to eat. And when I say eat, I mean really EAT.
After a tutor meeting that didn’t go all that well in my first ever Michaelmas, I went straight to my kitchen cupboard and ate everything I could find. In exam term, I sat and ploughed through two entire cakes without pausing for air.
I’m well aware this isn’t the best thing for my health, and is also a little bit mental. In order to put an end to this madness, and my impending obesity, this week I’ve found a different way to cope with stress: I’ve been cooking. A lot.
Some of you might think this is basically the same thing, that cooking will simply lead to an increased growth rate for my girth.
But that’s where you’re wrong. I’m not simply talking about whipping up an omelette, or rustling up some pasta. I’m talking about labours of love, creations that will tempt a vegetarian to eat meat, or a diabetic to eat cake. I’m talking about taking a couple of hours out of your day to really create something. Not heat it, thaw it or microwave it. No. Cook it.
Right now, I am standing guard, watching out for my precious supper. Within the oven that I protect, there lies the sort of meal that will heal the deepest of wounds: stew and dumplings, with crumble standing by for pudding.
It is comfort food at its best, but having spent almost 3 hours of my day procuring the relevant items, and ritually developing such a masterpiece, I’m not willing to abandon it quickly. I couldn’t bring myself to devour it in seconds. It would be like slashing the Mona Lisa or shooting Yo-Yo Ma.
The flavours that have been carefully cultivated in such a dish must be savoured; the warmth and stodge must be fully appreciated. It’s like enjoying a nice glass of wine, you let your tongue languish in the flavours, you let your taste buds fully grasp the deliciousness, you don’t want the sensation to end.
It’s not really about the product though; it’s about the process, the hours of preparation. As you stoop over a pot, bowl or pan of what will soon be tasty-goodness, you can’t help but feel content and accomplished.
If you devote yourself fully to cooking, you can be the mastermind behind the conception of something truly spectacular. For a few hours, you are God of the hobs, King of the kitchen, Commander of the utensils, Master of the oven! You’re in your element, sieving like a pro, beating like a star chef, kneading like a natural!
Nobody can stop you or your culinary genius! Envy fills the face of everyone who catches a whiff of your sensational stollen, your beastly bread, your remarkable risotto…
As you recede into a world where all that matters is the stiffness of your egg whites or the exact temperature of your marzipan, everything else drifts on by. The world goes on, but who cares? You might just be the next Delia Smith.
When things next go wrong, or you just want to waste some time: don’t worry, don’t eat, don’t run. Cook! It’s like therapy. But you can eat it.
I preferred provocative articles
fuck off
you can beat on my star chef any day
I'm thinking the fact that the usual stream of vitriol has not appeared within minutes again is testament to just how fucking boring this is.
we're all busy over on the occupation articles
This is a thoroughly dull article. Maybe Terrance should write for the Tab so he can tell the world about Salo – traditional food from the Ukraine – which he shares with friends of both male sex and female sex
I've actually stopped procrastinating and gone back to my essay because it's more fun than reading this.
I would cook but I don't have time with all my U21s training.
But devastatingly dull.
I feel ya. Good food is important; cooking is therapeutic. I think you should make bread – there is no more time wasting, or more satisfying, activity.
A more time wasting activity would be writing such articles…
Oh hai Sophie how is your sex life?
Don't you employ a servant for cooking your food?
Nice read – if you wanna cook but avoid getting fat, I'd volunteer to join you for dinner…
are we doing pre-match curry or not? I know it's a late start
I've got something you can eat…
I'm very aroused. And a little bit confused…
Sophie, next time please can you write an article about how you deal with the abuse you receive on the comments section? Maybe throw some comebacks in there? Escalate everything a bit? It would be much more interesting than this soul-destroyingly boring rubbish..
I don't think she should respond to the shit she gets – take the higher ground.
Hi Sophie.
the higher ground would be to STOP CLOGGING UP CYBER SPACE WITH THIS ARSE GRAVEY.
if only you were able to spell.
Maybe you should spend less time cooking, more time learning how to write an article.
You should try champagne. If you haven't already.
I fucking love food.
We like cakes, we just can't eat them. Insensitive.
I'd eat her muffins though, not to mention those buns.
there are actually good food writers on the tab, you should take a leaf out of their book
gon hate
I like eating too, we should get together sometime.
completely and utterly surprised by the lack of sexist 'women in the kitchen' comments – so, please stay in the kitchen you dumb bum head
I think some arts students have too much thyme on their hands…
Next week please may you write about disabled, ginger, Labour Jews?
- Even the comments are getting more boring.
Resemble the top of a carrot
Who else came to Cambridge to guarantee themselves a slot on the panel of Loose Women?