My history in the kitchen is a blurred series of chaos and smoke. I’m the one that was responsible for burning the brownies, overcooking the chicken and apologizing a million times for ruining dinner. But I was never discouraged. I kept on burning, setting off smoke alarms and apologizing until I began to get it right. My grandmother, aunts and mother are all great cooks. I assumed that the talent would be an innate trait and I couldn’t quite grasp why I was so off. I was clumsy in the kitchen for a long time, unlike the women in my family, who made cooking seem so effortless. Even my brother got it right way before I did. That annoyed me a bit. So it took me a bit longer. For me, it was a matter of practice, trials and errors and patience. The key, I figured out, was to cook things I like to eat.
A midst the smell of burnt steak that was to be my father’s dinner, I realized that I wasn’t cooking things I like to eat. And that smokey revelation was the beginning of my cooking success story. So I began with the simple delights that make me happy- lentils, stews, pasta and soup. With that, I began to finally get it right. Now I’m good at cooking the things I like, and sharing it with the people I love. And I’m slowly venturing towards bigger tasks like, lasagna and creamed spinach, and I’m having some success.
I love to cook. And it’s always fun when I find a coupon for great supermarkets like Wholefoods.
Rona, Columbia University School of General Studies
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