by Kim Cody
I often wish I could be the type of person who can use words like ‘pejorative’ in a sentence. Not in a self-conscious way, but the kind of way that rolls off your tongue. I wouldn’t have to think about what the word meant, or if I was using it properly in a sentence. I just would.
On a somewhat higher level, it’s more the implication of what being a pejorative-word-user would mean. The pejorative-user is the type of person who has read all the books she said she would read. The kind of woman who can have friends knock on the door to her apartment with no warning, and she’ll let them in because she wouldn’t require 25 minutes of emergency clean-up. A woman who can remember the right way to roast a chicken, without googling that one Buzzfeed listicle from 2013 which told you the best way and it worked that one time, even though you thought you were better than that, so what the hell, let’s use that one again…The type of woman who follows her skin care routine every.single.night.
I am not that person. I love books. I love roast chicken. I love my tiny, messy apartment, and my sporadic dives into the depths of beauty and skincare. But I do not have all the little bits that make up a woman who is nearly 30 and has her life together. I wonder what the hell I’m doing almost every day. But there has been one constant source of happiness and confidence for me: food.
Cooking food, eating food, watching food TV programmes, reading about food, watching people make food. It’s the only love that has stuck with me throughout my life. At the age of no more than 2, I watched my mother and grandmother make wonderful dishes for their catering business, and family gatherings. At the age of 7, my Mum showed me how to make the perfect omelette (still not 100% on that, but getting there). At 20, and in college, I fed my friends and housemates and classmates given any opportunity.
Having this love and being ever-so-aware of my lack of an outlet for it, when my good pal approached me to contribute to this magazine, I was delighted. I always think about doing things, and rarely get anything done. She gave me the opportunity to share what I love with you all, and, moreover, the opportunity to be the type of woman who actually gets organised, shares her passion, takes action, and is accountable to her word to write about what she loves. This is my chance to be the food-writing equivalent of the kind of person who can use pejorative in a sentence without blinking; we do it because it is second nature to us.
This part of our magazine will explore food, cooking, ingredients, health, and sustainability in the food industry. I welcome your comments, questions, criticisms.
Let me share my love of eating and sharing food with you. Welcome to my passion. Welcome to Bean.
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