Over the years K’s incessant praise has gone to my head when it comes to cooking. With every passing year, I lorded over my kitchen with the confidence of a master chef who’s arrogance is forgiven because of the quality of food that comes out of the kitchen.
Yesterday however, witnessed a fall of epic proportions. Having invited friends over for dinner and having amma to help, I did what I usually do. Order my underlings about and insist on making things myself. I hesitate to delegate and enjoy the idea of whipping up something that everybody enjoys.
Calling K in the midst of his work to point out how something must be done correctly, I felt deliciously evil. The horns on my head were growing. Setting out the food on the kitchen island later that evening, when people asked me who made xyz, I swelled with pride and said “I did.”
Plate in hand, I served myself decent portions and sat amidst a group of friends and chatted away. Food in my mouth I realized what a fall I had set myself up for. I looked around in horror realizing when people asked me “Who made this?” it was not in praise. The food was half cooked, dry and patently inedible. The rest of the evening went past in a blur of activity and I wrapped myself up in clearing the kitchen.
The feeling of shame in my mind however is as vivid as yesterday. I learned first hand why wise folks said “Pride goes before a fall.”
Boy! what a fall.