Too many cooks in the kitchen?

We stayed in (and ate in) guesthouses all along the trek. It was always wonderful to be greeted by a warm "Namaste" at the end of a long day and led to a simple room that would be your home for the night. Our most enjoyable nights were the ones spent in the most modest guesthouses that weren't as frequented by trekkers. Communication was always a bit more challenging, but it was a much more authentic experience than staying in the lodges that were full of other trekkers. We sought out these smaller operations, often standing off on their own away from the villages, with the most beautiful views! One night, we were quite weary from a long day of hiking, and we rounded a corner to come upon the Green View Guesthouse. The woman running the guesthouse was busy washing her hair in the spigot out in front of the two story house. She even seemed a bit surprised when we inquired about a room, but quickly led us up creaky wooden stairs to our rooms that overlooked the backyard. There were clothes on the line, gently blowing in the breeze, while the hens wandered about pecking the ground. The bell on the water buffalo rang dully as she munched on some hay in her shed. We placed our order for dinner (the menus are standardized and is virtually identical from one lodge to the next), which was met by a puzzled look from the woman. We had ordered mashed potatoes, sauteed vegetables, and a fried egg. After reviewing the order a few times and a few charades, the woman disappeared into the kitchen. After some time, she reappeared with a pot of peeled, boiled potatoes...and was looking for a bit of guidance...not sure which step would (or should) come next. I made every mashing motion I could think of, but they were all greeted by a furrowed brow and slight frown revealing she was unconvinced by my hand motions. Instead she gestures for me to join her in the kitchen. She offers a mortar and pestle, but I opted to use a big knife to start chopping and mashing the potatoes. She seemed pleased with my progress and spoke to me in Nepali as if I could understand what she was saying. After 'mashing' the potatoes, I stepped out of the kitchen so as to not be stepping on her toes. She quickly calls me back in with her laughter ever accompanying her broken English that was far superior to my Nepali. Next order of business was figuring out what 'saute' meant. She brings in big beautiful leaves of some leafy green vegetable from her garden and then waits for my instruction. Together we find an appropriate pan, add some oil, garlic and onion...and suddenly I'm cooking the greens and this beautiful Nepali woman is chuckling contentedly as she scurries about clearning up scraps and speaking to me in Nepali to no avail. Finally she brings in fresh eggs rom he rhens and throws together an omlette in no time. She worked nimbly in the kitchen but we caught her off guard with our dinner requests. She seemed to enjoy inviting us into her kitchen and letting us help with the cooking. Last but not least, she strolls into the kitchen with a fresh bucket of milk from her water buffalo to whip up our milk teas for dinner. Dinner was a bit cold by the time everything was prepared, and perhaps even a bit bland...but we ate every last bit of the meal that was cooked with love, came mostly from her modest backyard, and was cooked over a small flame that she stoked as I kept an eye on the contents of the pans. These experiences were priceless to us. And even when we weren't invited into the kitchen, we watched women collect veggies from their gardens to prepare our meals. Lunch breaks were long, as our meals were prepared from scratch using what was growing in the area.