Cooking Up Confidence

I will cook my first solo Thanksgiving dinner on Thursday. Fear is what makes Thursday my first solo run. I guess even when I was young, deep inside of me there was a budding feminist. I was a quiet rebel. I refused to ‘learn’ how to cook or clean because those were the expectations of me. I didn’t find any joy in learning how to do something just because my future husband would require it of me. So I steered clear of the kitchen for as long as I could. But that was only part of the reason. The other part was that I was scared that I wouldn’t be good at it.

My mother and grandmother were boss cooks. They made dishes by eyeballing and using a pinch of this and a dash of that. It was both fascinating intimidating. How would I ever be able to do that? I felt inadequate so I avoided it. Cause you know how older women are, they were always ‘trying to help’ me if showed interest in making something. but their directions were confusing. “Add more salt,” they would say. “How much I would ask?”. I was looking for a precise answer. Something that I could measure. But bless their hearts, they would always say something like, “Just a dash.” What in the world was a dash, to me, a novice in the kitchen? It didn’t make sense. And so I quit early in life. I decided that cooking was one of those mysteries I would never unlock. And I went back to my books. Books never confused me.

But then one day I realized that because I was a strong reader, I could follow a recipe. And slowly but surely I tried things on my own, never when my well meaning mother was around (my grandmother had passed by then) because she was good at cooking, but not necessarily good at teaching me in a way that worked for me. I tried cooking (using recipes) on my own, in the safety of my own kitchen. It was exhilarating. I loved the precise measurements and clear directions of a recipe. I could follow the directions and end up with something delicious. And the more comfortable I became with making a particular dish, the more I would experiment with new herbs, spices and ingredients. I began to enjoy cooking because I learned it in a way that made sense to me.

I will likely never be a gourmet chef, but I can cook. I write those words with confidence. I am sure of it now. I can and do cook regularly. And I enjoy it. I will cook my first solo Thanksgiving dinner on Thursday confidently. I am not a boss cook like my mom. My sister is the new boss cook in the family, but I can hold my own. I learned that cooking was like everything else I wanted to learn in life. I read up about it, I practiced, I made mistakes, I gave myself feedback and got feedback from others, and tried and tried again. Eventually I got to a place where I felt confident, even though I still don’t know what a pinch is, or what a dash is. I use tools to measure things out, I don’t go from memory or instinct. I like the comfort of using precise measurements to get a consistent outcome, and learning new ways to make old favorites. And since I love learning cooking has become fun.

I have applied my lessons learned from cooking to my life. I try not to let fear or frustration hold me back from learning new things. I know the way I learn and I use that to help me add new skills to my toolbox. Just like I literally cooked my way to confidence, I learn my way through new things.