I started cooking (for real — not from boxes and cans) in September. Kevin and I had just moved in together and suddenly it all seemed very clear: We need to eat. It sounds a little stereotypically housewifey. But I didn’t feel like I was on an episode of black-and-white television. I didn’t feel like I should be wearing an apron and popping out babies. I just thought: There’s two of us. If I make something good for dinner, we both get to eat it.

And so the cooking began. I bought ingrediant after ingrediant, things like cornmeal, olive oil, dried cherries, confectioner’s sugar, leeks. These were not things you could eat whole or things that came with mixes. I pored over cookbooks and cooking web sites. I started improvising by imagining how two flavors would taste when mingled. I splashed maple syrup and rice vinegar into soba noodles with garlic powder.

Turns out, I like cooking. And I wish I’d started sooner.

From the blog Smitten Kitchen, here’s a rundown of why people don’t cook.

2 thoughts on “Cookingphobic

  1. the opening of this post sounds startlingly familiar. This is how I was when Kevin moved into my apartment. Now I have a live-in chef!

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