At last I have decided what to tell about. A theme everyone understands. I think that women of my generation, born in the Soviet Union, know how to cook and possibly take pride in their skill. I am sincerely glad when the food I have prepared is liked by those around me. From about 14 I started cooking. My first successes were home baking. And then I mastered all our Slavic dishes, and cooking was never a burden to me. In life food was the main item of expenditure both in the Soviet Union and after.
So, tempered like this by my five-metre kitchen, I arrived in Norway at an age at which some are often already grandmothers more than once, and of course I immediately joined the process of cooking with great enthusiasm, counting on the “unquestioning” approval of the whole Norwegian family. I remind you that I arrived in a village house to my future husband and his two teenage daughters, to a collie dog and to a cat who to this day is my “friend.”
At first I of course tried to find out the family’s taste preferences. The girls answered that “they eat pizza and drink Coca-Cola.” The husband, who was not yet a husband, politely said that “he eats everything.” This calmed and gladdened me, because he also said that he likes potatoes, especially mash. Here I almost wept from emotion, because peeling potatoes had been my favourite occupation from the age of 7, especially such potatoes as in Norway, already prepared, clean from the supermarket! In one-two-three!
I arrived on 15 December, just before Christmas, when the buying of provisions is in full swing. We would go as a whole family to the supermarket and the girls would at once put in the trolley what they eat, and Ivan everything else, including food for the cat and the dog. And I was left only to look at Norwegian prices. Of course I could also boldly throw a product I liked into the trolley, but I felt a certain confusion: the trolley is packed with products, there seems nothing to add, except perhaps a pack of coffee…
When we arrived home, the task was to “stuff” all this not into an empty refrigerator. Later I began to figure it out, the refrigerator is constantly replenished but rarely cleaned, and there were moments when the girls altogether forgot to close the door, because they had to place, straighten a product that was falling out, but the teenage girls could not think that far. All right, I will not dwell on such trifles. I then had a glimmering hope that I would be able to accustom this family to normal home food. To be continued….