I don’t know if I was born to cook, but I definitely grew to love to cook. I think that comes from being a granddaughter to immigrants from Eastern Europe. I have always enjoyed eating and over time, have realized that I love being in the kitchen, preparing food, trying new things. I call it my happy place. Its my therapy.
Growing up I tried baking. I must not have really enjoyed it all that much, as over time, as I went into my 20s, met my husband and started a family, it was cooking that I was drawn to. Maybe it is the science of baking that I didn’t enjoy, as cooking is far more forgiving than baking. Take for example, that time I accidently used salt instead of sugar…. must I say more on how that turned out?
My first memories of being in the kitchen include the summer I called my mom at work to ask her a question as I was in the middle of making strawberry jam. Or all the cheesecakes I experimented with as a teenager and the family friends I shared the leftovers with. Or our family friend named Jonathan who every time he visited helped me make lasagna. Memories etched in my mind like the day I was married or the days my kids were born. All of these memories bring a smile to my face to this day.
I often wonder what would of happened had I realized sooner in life how cooking mattered to me. Would I have enrolled in formal culinary training rather than the odd specialty cooking class I have enrolled in simply out of pleasure? Would I be a Martha? Or a Gordon? In the end, I have no regrets as the paths we choose take us to where we are today. I would not give up my life or my husband or my kids or the road we have travelled or the life we have built. Now I will ponder what I can do to incorporate my passion into my life as I look towards retirement from the day job.
So far it has brought me to this. I guess I’ll have to sit back and see where this journey takes me.