Why I Started Cooking

Why I Started

I used to despise fish. As a child, fish was served typically preserved. Brined herring, or smoked mackerel, or cured trout. It was such concentrated flavor, so you either loved or hated it. Ironically I love it now, but I hated it then.

I recall in my early teenage years trying a piece of fish that I did not detest. It was a simple piece of tilapia, pseudo-breaded (no breadcrumbs) and overcooked, that caught my attention. A family friend had made it and I asked my mom if we could ask him for the recipe. She looked at me and told me it was incredibly simple to make. Later that week, she showed me how, using a few pieces of fish, a plate of flour, a plate of beaten eggs, and a lot of olive oil. It was one of the first few things I learned how to make, alongside rice-a-roni from the box, boiled hotdogs, and fried bologna. Soon after, I graduated to stovetop-braised chicken legs.

It felt exciting. It felt like sowing seeds and immediately reaping the plants. It felt like I obtained agency by being able to pick which seeds to sow. I was able to eat all the things I wanted, as long as I was willing to make it myself.

This blossomed into an expression of creativity. I began experimenting with seasoning, with cultural fusion, with new ingredients. I learned how to make sushi, risotto, gumbo, and more. I began to understand recipes as guidelines, rather than formulae. Cooking transformed from a selfish gastronomic fulfillment to a an experience I would share with family, with friends, and with partners. Sharing is what cemented the passion. Spreading joy via flavor became an obsession, and I would spend years honing this craft to my limits.

Why I Continue

I see food as a cultural event. Imbued within recipes is a history of both joy and suffering. When I make Borsht, I think of its origins as a seasonal dish, necessitated by harvests of beats, cabbage, onions, potatoes, carrots, and dill. I think of how my ancestors must have eaten it throughout Summers not because they wanted to, but because they had to. I think of how I didn’t like it as a child, but love it now. I think of how I only started making it myself because of a CSA membership providing me exactly the ingredients for it. All of these thoughts connect me to the planet and its people, and I treasure that experience.

It is that connection that I so enjoy sharing with others still. Many of my fondest memories are over a table, and it is the medium through which I frequently create bonds. It doesn’t have to be profound either; it’s always a pleasure to make someone happy with a simple tasty waffle, if even for a minute.