A home cooked meal is often talked about in the movies, and even in the home but I wonder if it is actually the food that is so great or the memories that come with it?
I love a home cooked meal because, let’s all be frank, uni students meals are barely a scratch on the experience that our mothers or fathers have had in the kitchen, plus, their appliances are often better to use.
It is also the memories, there is something that cannot be bought, or cooked for 50 minutes straight that can replicate the combination of emotion, senses and tastes uniting.
It is an odd combination, the notion that the home cooked meal can mean so much, and be entrenched in our own sort of development of identity (while else do we get defensive of mum’s lasagne, or vegetable bake?)
What do you think readers, is the home cooked meal simply humbling to ourselves, or something deeper?
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