The Intersection of Opposing Ideals

At a recent holiday party, I got into a discussion about food and cooking with some of my friends, both swapping delicious recipes and just generally the joys and difficulties of day to day cooking. One couple I am friends with recently moved, and they both work from home. So they find themselves having to find new ways to organize cooking, as previously the man in the relationship did very little of it. However, being home more, and enjoying cooking himself, they are working together more in the kitchen.

I said that it’s always more fun when you have both people working together, but that Mr. Bo is not so much fond of cooking, and therefore I do all the cooking and he does all the washing up.

They were surprised. Knowing that I’m a feminist, and that I strive for equality, and that I am in many ways a tomboy (I <3 tools), they were taken aback by the fact that I let things fall into the stereotype. And to be honest, it was something I struggled with as well for a while. Eventually, though, I had to give up. And here’s why:

I really, really like to cook.

Cooking brings me the wonderous, tasty, life-giving food, yes. But it’s also a form of therapy for me. Nothing cures a long day or just a grouchy mood like taking a few extra minutes to do something special with my food. As long as the problem is not “I am so hungry I can’t think straight” (in which case Mr. Bo kindly brings me snackage) preparing food actually does wonders for my mental health.

No so for Mr. Bo. Which is not to say that he does not like to cook, but it is a thing that has to happen to provide the tasty things for eating. Surprisingly, there are things that he is incredibly good at, such as making rice or thickening cream sauces, which I a horrible at and therefore always get him called into the kitchen. And I often call him in just to chat and keep me company. But cooking doesn’t feed his soul the way it does mine.

Which is not to say that I didn’t struggle with this arrangement when it formed. Initially, I didn’t really think about it. I come home and I relax for a little bit, and then what I want to do with my evening is usually fix dinner. And it’s just as easy to cook for two as one. And when Mr. Bo went pescetarian I took it as an opportunity to try a lot of new and different recipes. But over time it began to feel stifling, and like a chore. As though I was falling into the trap of the dutiful woman who does all the cooking and cleaning while the man brings home the paycheck and then gets to lounge around (or do repair and yard work). Which is a false dichotomy, both because it’s not an equal distribution of tasks and because we as a society tend to view those “masculine” jobs as being more important. It’s assumed that there will be dinner on the table each night, and the floors will be cleaned and the surfaces dusted, etc. But it’s praiseworthy that the yard get mowed or the gutters cleaned or the broken thing fixed.

Also, it’s a false dichotomy because the only reason most women don’t know how to do these things is because they haven’t been taught. It’s not hard to hammer a nail or refinish a piece of furniture, and I built my new dresser (well, assembled, but it was an “all assembly required” kind of assemble). I did this because my parents made sure that my brothers and I all knew how to change a flat tire, hammer a nail straight, fix ourselves dinner, and sew a button back on.

But to get back on topic, eventually the arrangement with dinner began to chafe. And we talked about it, and we tried different things, and what we found was that for the most part I really wanted to cook dinner. As long as it was understood that this was something I was doing because I enjoyed it and not because either he or I felt I was obligated to do it. And there are certainly nights where I am not in the mood, and Mr. Bo cooks, or we order in.

Still, occasionally, the inner radical feminist chafes at the system we’ve created. And while I understand the “Down With Patriarchy” sentiment, the reality is that when one lives with someone, one is required to compromise. I seriously doubt I would have a different setup were I living with a woman. When single, I would occasionally fix dinner for the whole apartment, or invite friends over for a large dinner, just so that I could feed a group of people. It is a driving need in me to cook, not just for myself but also others. I can attempt to rebel against this part of me in an attempt to live up to the Ideal Feminist in my head, but I’m left feeling incomplete. Or I can cook. And feel whole. And find other ways to satisfy my Feminist Ideal.

I may talk about those more some other time. I may not. First, I need to remember to post more than once a month.