Not Our Mamas' Kitchen

Yesterday three friends (Joni, Becky and Becca) and I made fettuccini and ricotta and spinach-stuffed ravioli from scratch. The four of us went to a pasta making demonstration at a local co-op grocer and decided to try our newly learned skills. We rounded off our meal with garlic bread knots, alfredo and two marinera sauces, and mango and jamaica juices. The alfredo and the drinks were the only things not made from scratch.
Growing up I never took much of an interest in cooking. I didn't hate it, I just didn't try to learn. Knowing how to make a quesadilla was good enough. Now I want to dabble into the culinary horizon. Part of it may be that I am on my own. I need to eat to survive and without mom or a college cafeteria I want something besides Ramen or cereal. Why should my taste buds be deprived of excitement in my own house?
Mine and my girlfriends' desire to experiment in the kitchen goes beyond survival of the fullest. I think cooking, in a sense, has become a rare art. A slough of fast food joints and restaurants make meals for us. Family meals are still around but are no longer staples in today's fast-paced society. I'll admit I've fallen into the "I'm too tired" or "I don't have time" trap (and that's without children or even a significant other!) yet I can't help but crave something better.
Cooking for our mothers was part of the "I do" package, making it primarily a responsibility. Not that they didn't take some pride or joy from it, but it was a type of duty. For the four of us and many others in our generation (including gents), it is a type of hobby and an adventure. Maybe that's why there's more interest in it.
Becca hopes society somehow goes back to the "older times," when meals were homemade, families ate together, and the only acceptable take-out was a brown sack for lunch. As we and four other friends sat around a table, laughing and talking over a pasta dinner made from scratch, I kind of hoped it would and that I could be part of it.