The lure of advertisements

I watch open-mouthed as the man of the house returns home to a loving wife and excited children after presumably a hard day at work. The next shot is that of the happy family sitting down to dinner. The wife enters with bowls of steaming hot soup which she proceeds to place before the hungry waiting faces.

As they plunge eager spoons into the broth, the camera moves to an arrangement of a variety of ready-made soup packets. There is a close up of a satisfied smile on the husband's face as he compliments his wife with his eyes on her culinary skills.

I can't believe what I see. Have any of you ever witnessed something like this in real life? Well, I haven't. I have been to scores of homes and never has any woman I am acquainted with tried to pull the wool over anyone's eyes, much less those of her beloved family, by making a big thing out of producing a ready-made meal as if she's just pulled a rabbit out of a hat. And what is even more remarkable is the fact that the celluloid family seems to be content with a one-course meal, eternally grateful for food on the table, no one asking for more. As far as I am concerned, soup is a starter, something which lets you know there's more to follow so one needn't slurp the contents as if it were one's last supper.

Nourishing meal

Judging from the smug look on the 'soup' chef, one would imagine she had plucked the vegetables fresh from the garden that very morning, sliced and diced and come up with a nourishing meal made from scratch. But this brazen woman even goes as far as to proudly admit that the whole thing came out of a packet. Maybe we should sing her praises instead for her honesty, for not trying to pass it off as her own creation. But what gets my goat is how easily the recipients of her culinary skills are satisfied.

I have seen mothers cook a variety of dishes to suit individual tastes only to come up short, with ungrateful family members asking why she hasn't made this or that or why couldn't she have cooked this course the way a friend's mother does. And faced with this barrage, I have always admired their restraint in not inflicting grievous bodily harm. Instead, these brave souls have smiled and promised to do better next time. Of course, the sarcasm goes unnoticed.

Then you have the other extreme - a table groaning under the weight of an array of dishes seemingly produced effortlessly by the foresight in using a particular brand of cooking oil. The implication is that a mere switch to this cooking medium and one is seized by this inexhaustible energy, making one go all out to cook up a storm. The end result is a meal so lavish that one feels full just looking at it. There's no thought here to the consequences of deep frying or the spectre of obesity which looms over every household. Needless to say, the champion chef who must have slaved over the stove from dawn to dusk to prepare such a feast (unless she is superwoman in disguise) isn't even a frazzled mess at the end of it all. Here is she at her gracious best, a picture of beaming motherhood, not a hair out of place, no signs of ill temper, no desire to let everyone know just how many hours of labour went into this making of this masterpiece.

Such false impressions are detrimental to the common woman's health. Impressionable minds such as those of children as well as men who don't know any better may be misled into thinking that all this is a piece of cake.

They might even go so far as to wonder whether womenfolk have been making it out to be much harder than it actually is. Sensing the chink in the female armour, they just might become obnoxious enough to indulge in great expectations, of perfect meals from perfect women.