Hey everyone. It’s been a while, hasn’t it? I was on a kind of impromptu hiatus due to major life changes that are, well… still changing. My writing’s slowed down and today I’m 24 so I figure I should do some kind of reflection on the past year of my life. It’s been a time, and I’m certainly not where I was a year ago. I think it’s a step forward, and I suppose when you do move forward some things have to be left behind. That’s part of it, no matter how much it hurts. In the midst of that pain it’s important to have healthy things to turn to, and I’m happy that I do.
I love cooking.
I really do, for a myriad of reasons.
I got into my love of wine sideways through a love of cooking because, once you start eating well, you want to start drinking well. There’s nothing like a solid food and beverage pairing to elevate a meal beyond all compare.
Cooking was also a way for me to expand my role and identity growing up. I love my parents, I do, and I understand that the struggles of working full jobs and taking care of children will obviously limit culinary experimentation beyond what will feed the four in the house and won’t require much effort. For that reason, I understand the importance of Box Taco Monday, Pork Chop Tuesday, Leftover Wednesday, and the beauty of the weekend lasagna with Prego. Some of my fondest memories from childhood come from those lasagnas and I’ll still defend hard tacos as a necessary part of food, on occasion. But it was exactly this pattern of food that first inspired me to try cooking for myself, because of a simple rule growing up.
If you don’t like what you’re served, make something else.
It was my freshman year of high school, and I decided to make something else. I offered to make dinner and went into it with all the pride and gusto of a new project.
The first ‘something else’ I made was chili from a recipe in one of my mother’s Weight Watcher’s recipe magazines. It seemed easy enough and many of the principles that I had adopted from helping my parents make lasagna and box tacos carried over. Browning meat, adding things, stirring things. I had to cut garlic and onions for it, but we’d done the latter for tacos before.
The difference was seasoning.
The recipe called for 2 teaspoons of chili powder.
I dutifully added them, and tasted it.
It is here where I preform my best Gordon Ramsay impression.
IT’S BLAND.
It was bland. There was a La Croix-esque hint of a flavor but nothing that was noticeable impressive behind it. This was something I was supposed to serve with dinner, and it couldn’t stand. Even box tacos and Prego lasagna had more flavor than this. Admittedly mine had none of the preservatives, so I’m still ahead here. That’s the important thing.
So whereas some kids raid liquor cabinets, I raided spice racks. It was then I discovered at once how in over my head I was, but how wide open the world could be for me.
Cumin. Cayenne. Cinnamon. Red pepper flakes. Oregano.
I don’t even really remember everything that I added those years ago, nor do I follow any specific recipe when I make chili now. All I knew at the time was I went with what either smelled or tasted good and, if it did, tossed it in.
There’s a fun in that kind of cooking I have now, years into cooking and with a better understanding of how flavors work (and what happens when that goes horribly wrong). Recipes become guidelines and once your techniques are down the ability to experiment grows exponentially.
But as I laid that bowl of chili down in front of my parents and brother and we all began to eat I learned what I still believe to be one of the two real powers of good cooking.
It made them happy. I had done something which gave other people happiness and joy. It’s why now, as I struggle through a particularly dark patch in my emotional and mental health combined with the dark cavern of writer’s block, I turn to cooking for others as comfort. Rib roast and Yorkshire with blueberry pie for dessert for my brother’s return to college, fried shrimp and dipping sauce for my dad who loves that kind of thing, chocolate mousse for my mother, mac and cheese for my best friend. I’ll even make something nice for myself for my birthday, eventually. (Here’s to being 24. I was never one for birthdays but given what’s happened the past two weeks I probably deserve a steak or something).
Maybe I should share my steak technique?
Anyway.
The other element of cooking that’s powerful is the act of creation, another good reason I turn to cooking when my other creative areas are dwindling. A bunch of random things in bags from the supermarket become, through your actions, something hopefully delicious, satisfying, and unique. Sure there are recipes to copy and techniques to follow but how subtle are the differences we all read into when a recipe says “Until Brown” or “Combine Thoroughly but Don’t Overmix.” We could all follow the same recipe and arrive at, in some way, different results.
Humans are creative, and cooking is a form of creation. Even those of us adding a teaspoon of peanut butter to instant ramen are creating, and don’t you dare discount that fact. It’s often the little things that keep us going, don’t you know that?
Part of the reason for this post was sharing the reason I take such comfort in cooking and cooking related things (Ratatouille forever!), and the other part of this was hoping to inspire you all as a result. Aforementioned Pixar movie does proudly proclaim that everyone can cook, and that’s true. It’s a good skill and art form to develop, even if just to, both literally and metaphorically, spice up your life.
But whatever it is you do to be creative and whatever it is you do to find comfort, make sure you enjoy it. These are things no one can take away from you. Cooking just has the added benefit of giving me something to eat when it’s done.
Remember to treat yoursevles. Bon Appetit everyone!