Barefoot in the Kitchen

Okay, I have to admit I am one to mock the conventional 1950 housewife image of being barefoot, looking fabulous and wearing those cute little aprons with the foof and fluff on the sides. Who doesn't my age. Wait, don't answer that. Let me rephrase. Who nowadays does not laugh at such a contrived and cliche image (chauvinist piglets do not count here).

And yet, there is something to be said about the feeling of accomplishment for a woman who never cooks who then dawns an apron and makes something splediferously delish all by herself. You know who you are woman! You're going, "Hell to the yes! Boom baby! Take that feminism!" Or something similar.

Amidst all the jokes about the housewife duty I think a lot of people forget to respect and admire what they did. I have developed a few Betty Crocker tendencies of my own. I like making jams and I like making homemade pasta and breads. It takes almost all day, at least a few hours, and it is all-encompassing, especially when I have other things to do, like chase my 15 month old about and control two wild dogs. But there it is. I made pasta, jams, and breads, and I am damn proud.

Decades ago, the kitchen was the heart of the home run by a strong woman in a fluffy apron and barefoot. But I sort of like that idea. Because lord knows, I'd rather be barefoot at my workplace than wearing 3 inch heels. And there is something to be said of the conversation, emotional leverage, and personality development that goes on when you're Betty Crockering it up.

So dawn that damn apron and be a cliche I say, at least for a day or two. Then you can go back to bra-burning and general rebel-rousing - no strings attached.

On a side note, I must say that homemade pasta is delicious and I cannot scream enough about the awesomeness of using semolina flour instead of being a cheap bastard and going for the conventional unbleached flour. Spring the few extra cents and go all out. And if you're ever in my neighborhood, let me know, I'll whip you up some pretty spaghetti or fettuccine if you say please, and promise to massage my feet afterward.