Hmmmm... Not your idea of spooning huh. While spooning can carry different significance (based on context), spoons are indeed something intimate to me. These wooden spoons were bought in a quiet, unnoticed store and hand carried through crazily dangerous tuktuk rides and airport dashes. Spoons tell a story, one which I will attempt to illustrate here on this platform. As the title suggests, this entry will be heavily embedded with nothing but the idea of spooning it. Inspired by one of my favorite magazines of all time, Kinfolk - the journey of hunting for spoons has been short-lived till date, but entirely exhilarating.
Meals cannot happen without cutleries. Maybe it is possible if you are Nepalese or Ethiopian (or other ethnicities that practice eating with bare hands), but people generally consume food with cutleries like forks, knives and the highlight of this entry - spoons. I love soupy food, especially ones that are home cooked. I relish the idea of a person spending hours slogging in the kitchen, whipping out delights one after another. Once in a while, I get someone telling me how sick they are of having the same kind of home cooked food everyday - and I never fail to tell them how blessed they are to have someone cook for them. I get emotionally affected because it is an intimate experience for me. I vividly remember how my late-mother was a great cook and baker (unfortunately, none of these talents were passed down to me). Above all, she made ridiculously delicious soups - something that I treasure even up to this day.
I ate surprising little as a kid. Those who remember me in my younger days would know that I looked terribly anorexic. I always had a struggle with food - not that I wanted to be skinny but it just happened. My late-mother would literally spoon feed me up to my secondary school days because I never finished my meals, or even half of it if no one noticed. She would add in a huge bowl of rice in my soup, so that I would not feel that I was eating that much. With that, I manage to finish a much bigger portion, even tenfold of what I would usually eat. In retrospect, I was quite a tough kid to raise.
My parents always emphasized the importance of having meals together at the dinner table, over conversations about mainly school or work. My brother and I would make cheeky faces to each other while our parents shut their eyes to say grace for the food on the table. Meals are quintessential in bringing people together - hence, the act of gathering individuals together for the sole purpose of enjoying a good meal has always inspired me. I have read good articles on preparing food together as a collective, with no boundaries or barriers in hierarchy. When grandparents would learn from their grandchildren about the wonders of playing with dough while baking, and a father puts down his books to prepare a meal with his wife, or even siblings setting aside their outstanding differences to prepare a meal together for the family.
I read somewhere that our lives are meant to be games of give and take. We are all born half-way, and the ones we meet along the way will complete us, or even unhinge us. And by the time we finish our lives, we will become whole.
Meal preparation is an intimate affair, to be experienced by many but enjoyed by few.
It is the relationship between a chef and his pots and pans, a waltz between cutleries and carefully chosen ingredients. Like the spoons featured in this entry, it can signify something far more than what it seems. These spoons can mean a lot of things, a typical family in Singapore or just 4 typical wooden spoons stashed in a quiet, unnoticed store. Spoons are wonderful creations, and I like to think that they are crafted not only to feed, but to gather people together in a common setting. Furthermore, I believe that conserving a connection with the way our food is being prepared is integral for balance in our lives, and such sanctuaries can be our escapade whenever the mind gets too cluttered. Or when the heart gets too heavy. Take a little trip to the supermarket, grab your ingredients and spend hours clearing your mind while dancing around the kitchen. Make food that not only feeds the stomach, but the heart and soul.
My parents always emphasized the importance of having meals together at the dinner table, over conversations about mainly school or work. My brother and I would make cheeky faces to each other while our parents shut their eyes to say grace for the food on the table. Meals are quintessential in bringing people together - hence, the act of gathering individuals together for the sole purpose of enjoying a good meal has always inspired me. I have read good articles on preparing food together as a collective, with no boundaries or barriers in hierarchy. When grandparents would learn from their grandchildren about the wonders of playing with dough while baking, and a father puts down his books to prepare a meal with his wife, or even siblings setting aside their outstanding differences to prepare a meal together for the family.
I read somewhere that our lives are meant to be games of give and take. We are all born half-way, and the ones we meet along the way will complete us, or even unhinge us. And by the time we finish our lives, we will become whole.
Meal preparation is an intimate affair, to be experienced by many but enjoyed by few.
It is the relationship between a chef and his pots and pans, a waltz between cutleries and carefully chosen ingredients. Like the spoons featured in this entry, it can signify something far more than what it seems. These spoons can mean a lot of things, a typical family in Singapore or just 4 typical wooden spoons stashed in a quiet, unnoticed store. Spoons are wonderful creations, and I like to think that they are crafted not only to feed, but to gather people together in a common setting. Furthermore, I believe that conserving a connection with the way our food is being prepared is integral for balance in our lives, and such sanctuaries can be our escapade whenever the mind gets too cluttered. Or when the heart gets too heavy. Take a little trip to the supermarket, grab your ingredients and spend hours clearing your mind while dancing around the kitchen. Make food that not only feeds the stomach, but the heart and soul.