femininity à la maison

Merci, madame. These words used to make me uncomfortable. Could I no longer be considered a mademoiselle? Had I become the only “ma’am” to be suspiciously carded outside a Parisian bar? (Yes, this really happened, and yes, the drinking age here is 18).

In every language, I’ve generally avoided calling myself “a woman.” I was a girl, a lady, sure, but not a woman. I didn’t believe I could handle the pressure or responsibility that comes with being one. I ain’t no Martha Stewart! And I don’t even usually talk like that. Then, this weekend, I read Rachel Jones’ recent article in The Atlantic, “Homemade is the New Organic.” Her brilliant premise: “I couldn’t help but consider how our attitudes surrounding domesticity, and its current post-feminist, Etsy-fied flavor, have changed our appreciation and definition of what constitutes a home-cooked meal.” Had I, too, fallen victim to believing the modern woman was still defined by her traditional roles of mother, wife, and otherwise humble yet multitalented caretaker? To an extent, yes.

I didn’t have a sexist upbringing... yet my dad worked late six days a week and my mom cleaned and cooked for us, in addition to working from home. She became a real estate agent when I was in high school as well. “Never mind that we are working longer hours and women are still responsible for making the majority of the meals in the home. We are inundated with recipes extolling the virtue of seasonal finds from the local farmer's market, or the health benefits native to exotic oils—good things in their own right.”

Although I wholeheartedly believe in feminist thought and speak up against present-day misogyny and our need to better support each other, in the end, maybe I want the job, the husband, the kids, and the dinner, too? But isn't that mostly okay? Shouldn't I be able to show love and affection through kitchen labors? Aren't I allowed to bake cookies for my coworkers, and be proud of myself for it (mostly because I successfully did so with a toaster oven)? I truly hope it's not any womanly label making me feel this way.

At the very least, it's certainly something to think about. “Home cooking has become warped by our fixation on doing it all and having it all—even in the kitchen.” This past Saturday, I went to a fabulous potluck dinner at Shola's. The culinary highlights: sweet potato-lentil soup, Persian samboosehs, and a plum tart; the latter prepared by a fellow grad student's pastry chef husband. And tonight, I'm thrilled to be hosting a "Breakfast for Dinner" party. On the menu: spinach salad with a pomegranate vinaigrette, hard-boiled eggs, and buttery pancakes with maple syrup and a warm cinnamon-apple compote. The question is: am I making everything moi-même? Not quite; it’ll only be a mostly homemade meal. I’ll come home from the office to a trusty American pancake mix :).