Remote Control

Around 7 pm, almost every evening, an aroma passes through my flat like a prospective tenant eagerly imagining how to make each room their own. It doesn't take long; the place isn't that big. While pops of heat escaping the pan releasing fumes you'd encourage others to inhale, the sizzle of simmering vegetables acts as white noise to juxtapose the pre-recorded conversation I'm tuned into.

Some might consider it overwhelming, but this concoction of stimuli is my moment of tranquillity. My kitchen ought to have a 'do not disturb' sign on the door. More often, I'm happier in there than when I'm eating. Once I pause the podcast, I usually feel myself resurfacing in the room.

My mind still wishes to concentrate, but no focus can be found. So, inevitably, I turn to The Simpsons.

Evergreen Terrace has been the setting of more mealtimes than I'd care to mention. It has become a habitual second home. As ridiculous as it sounds, there's a jarring lack of completeness to dinner without being joined by a fictional family. Maybe it's in place of my own.

Growing up, my mother exercised complete control of the remote. There still is a zero-tolerance policy for anything she disapproves of, and cartoons are certainly not on her agenda for evening entertainment. So, every time I attempted to sneak on The Simpsons, the TV was shut down before the couch gag got going.

It likely stems from a place of rebellion. One of my mum's favourite lines was to emulate her mother by stating: "Once you've got your own home, you can watch what you like". I think, subconsciously, I might have taken the utterance to heart.

However, once a habit has formed, I find it desperately hard to detach myself. Many evenings, I'll be engrossed in finding an episode as my food gradually chills in front of me. When I get around to tucking into the first lukewarm spoonful, I'm not even concerned about my meal. The box has my undivided attention. It's a scene reminiscent of that described in Aesop Rock's Basic Cable, humanity enslaved by television.

Strangely, it's not so much the television I've got a problem with, more my habits and how to break them.

I've tried to continue listening to the podcasts which captivate me in the kitchen but to no avail. My eyes dart around the room, searching for a visual stimulus to fixate on. Maybe it's the modern condition, which is to say I find no satisfaction until my pupils are suction cupped to a screen. Although, I never felt that way in the kitchen.

Focus is the factor that differentiates my cooking and dining experiences. In the kitchen, I'm forced to monitor each element of my meal; while dining, my mind searches for a subject to settle on.

As for The Simpsons, it’s a uniquely comforting experience. Each episode has a perpetual sense of stasis, beginning and ending without significant adjustment. Furthermore, I'm in control.

Though relinquishing control makes my mind race, maybe I need to try it more often. There's an element of enjoyment in freefalling; you're just along for the ride, so you might as well make the most of it. What's to lose? Mealtimes have become monotonous, and it's not my regular rotation of food's fault.