Challenging Sexism - First Step, the Barbeque
Apr 15 '01
The Bottom Line Some people might say sexism is dead - they obviously have not eaten at my house during the summer weeks.
I used to cook everything in my house. Stoves, microwaves, ovens, steamers, smokers, barbeques - nothing was safe from me. I cooked lots of things, from lots of regions, always adding my own little flair and little seasonings to make food a little scooch better (in my humble opinion, at least). When we had a summer party, I would barbeque the veggie burgers and chicken wings - just like I would have cooked them if the party had been in the dead of winter and consisted of slow simmered beef stew and potatoes. My mother once threw a huge party four about fifteen people - I sat and dry rubbed dozens of chicken breasts and marinated steak till I never wanted to look at another piece of meat again. But that did not stop me from grilling them - I just love cooking in general.
That is, until my stepfather moved in.
Yup, Divorce Changes Everything
So my parents divorced, and my mom stopped making family meals every night, and I started cooking for myself, and for parties or special occasions. My dad used to be the one that barbequed in our house - but he liked to cook, too. He smoked meats and made stir fries and pasta and sometimes Italian dishes. He had a right to barbeque - he was the only one who was good at it.
So when my parents divorced, I was about fourteen and just learning that I loved to cook. I took over the barbeque with glee - it was one more opportunity for me to cook.
So, of course, my mom dated, as single people do, and got married, as single people occasionally due, and I gained a stepfather.
Now don't get me wrong. My stepdad's a cool guy. There're a lot of things that he's good at. Barbequing it not one of them.
But as soon as he came into the picture, the tongs and charcoal were whipped out of my hands and placed into his. This was even before my mom and him were married - at a summer barbeque that we were both in attendance of, he immediately took over the barbeque grill like it was his given right. I just didn't get it.
I still marinated, and made the potato salad and put the kabobs together. But all of a sudden, I wasn't allowed to cook them anymore - simply because my stepfather was there and he was male and I was there and I was female.
Of course, no one had ever told me that there was an unspoken rule that the male gets to grill, no matter how much of a better cook the female is.
I mean, I can see where it stems from - the Nuclear family, with the wife, with her poofy skirts and little apron, cooking for the family all day (NEVER slaving over a stove - it was a joy). But than the man would come home from work, and the wife would have the meat all ready and the potato salad mixed just right, and he would take over the perilous job of taming those wild flames and try to contain them in the charcoal, just so his lovely wife's skirt doesn't have a chance of getting burnt.
I don't wear poofy skirts and barbeques have come a long way, baby.
I just don't get it. There's an open flame with a stovetop. You can char things under the blistering power of a broiler set to 'high'. But do I see men insisting that they must do these things, just because they're more 'dangerous' or 'manlier'? No. Of course not.
Burnt Food Isn't The Only Thing That's Bitter
Yeah, so I'm a little mad at this. I just don't understand.
I guess I could understand my dad cooking on the grill because he cooked other times, too. Grilling was not his single venture near a kitchen. My stepfather, on the other hand, has quite a bit of trouble microwaving pizzas. But nevertheless, every summer, I'm stuck in the kitchen while he's grilling. and I just don't think it's fair.
I know sexism isn't dead, but I at least thought that it was getting better. Little things like this just tend to annoy me - but what can I do about it?
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Epinions.com ID:
meeshling
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Member: jessie
Location: assorted spots all over NJ
Reviews written: 39
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About Me:
'Can't you just go out and get drunk like a normal seventeen year old?'-my mom
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