A Cooking Dream - Or Maybe Not
What with work being crazed and our refrigerator dying, I haven't cooked anything for a while. The last was some forgettable mulligatawny soup. Since then, it's been stuff dredged from our freezer, and takeout.
So I had a dream about cooking last night. This is the first cooking dream I can remember ever having, and I hope I don't have another.
It was at a party in a big, two level house. Maybe more of a ''grotto'', because I don't remember any architectural details or windows or, for that matter, any staircase between levels. Each floor was one big space full of people. So many people. All of my friends and acquaintances, and dozens more who seemed to know me, while being unknown to me. I don't know how I got here, in the midst of this party. Everyone is in a jolly mood, laughing and talking, music playing, drinks flowing. It dawns on me that I am supposed to cook. Maybe the clue is every third person greeting me with how much they are looking forward to this dinner, our dinners are always so great, etc. Looking for food, I find myself holding an impossibly long rack of pork ribs, ten feet dangling, as if it came from a pig-snake. And a ten foot long halibut fillet. Something else that is unmanageably sized. Trying not to drag these on the floor, I'm looking for a pot. There are pots everywhere - teeny little pans, giant stock pots, hammered copper saucepots, stone turrens. They all seem to be in use, full of smoking oily stuff. I can't find knives or spices. Or counterspace. Where are the aromatics? I keep bumping into, tripping over, hearty people who clap me on the back and tell me they can't wait to taste my dinner. I struggle and start prepping some dishes. It is so crowded. I have to run back and forth, upstairs to downstairs. My half prepped dishes keep disappearing. I realize that people are ''helping'' me, spiriting away my food and malcooking it before it's ready. Running from oven to oven, I find my dishes over-cooked, spilled, blackened. Rushing to make new dishes. I'm having trouble doing basic things. How to make a vinaigrette? And I'm still wrestling with the rack of pig-snake ribs. It is wrapping around my ankles, slapping my face. Faces keep turning to me, looking forward to dinner. I feel myself losing heart.
Dreaming about cooking, as a nightmare, isn't how I wanted to start the day (at 4:30 AM!). I suppose the dream wasn't much about cooking anyway.
If you have dreams about cooking, I hope yours are more pleasant.