Re-learning the Craft of an Amateur Chef

The last 20 years of my life have seen numerous changes of career goals, hobbies and passions. At one point, I wanted to be a famous guitarist, at another, a political activist. Many phases have come and gone, but if there's one thing that's remained consistent throughout my life, it's my passion for cooking. There's something about the artistry of perfecting recipes and preparing new dishes that I've always been drawn to, from the rich smell of sauteed garlic to the lavish presentation of high-end restaurant entrees. Whether in my childhood kitchen or my college apartment, I never let more than a few days pass between creating something. Over time, my attitude has changed in the way I see cooking — and my relationship with it.

When I was a kid, I would take pieces of copy paper from the printer to design elaborate "menus" and give them to my family. I would write "Audrey's Restaurant" or "Le Gourmet" on the top with marker. Members of my household could choose from specialty drinks like lemon water or house made chocolate milk. Main course offerings ranged from scrambled eggs to peanut butter and jelly sandwiches. Nothing thrilled me more than playing pretend that I was a chef at my very own restaurant. I got cookbooks for Christmas and even used to say I'd open my own café someday.

Over the years, I slowly gained basic knowledge of the craft by watching and helping my mom. I learned what vegetables went well together, how to use knives safely and that you can't speed up cooking time by just turning the heat up higher. PB&Js morphed into grilled cheese, and scrambled eggs were replaced with pasta sauce made from crushed tomatoes and herbs. As I learned from her, I also picked up several habits that I had to break later on.

First, she never used a cutting board. She would deftly cut fruits and vegetables just by holding the knife in the air, along with whatever she was chopping. I was baffled that she never sliced a finger, especially because the process was always so quick. I found that I couldn't cut like she did — and it wasn't super safe to try — so I got used to cutting boards quickly. However, I never paid much attention to the proper techniques to dice or julienne. I always did whatever was easiest in the moment, ignoring how it might look.

Second, my mom made LOTS of food. For many years, she was cooking for five people plus leftovers, so we could have some for lunch the next day. The first few times I made spaghetti for just myself as an adult, I wasted more than I'm proud to admit. I still cooked as if at least three people were going to have at least one serving. It took several months of adjusting to grasp how to portion properly, whether it was for a one-person dinner or meal prepping for two. To this day, I sometimes still get it wrong.

Though I consistently recognized my passion for food over the years, I also accepted that I might ruin my love for it if I turned it into a career. I pursued a different path but never stopped wanting to whip something up for family or friends. For some time now, I've used not being a "professional" as an excuse to keep improvising. I told myself I didn't need to follow rules, that I could take recipes as suggestions or not measure anything, since I'm only cooking "for fun." With no pressure from strangers' opinions, I have to rely on my own motivation to improve.

So why am I so resistant to going back to the basics? There's nothing wrong with strengthening your foundation — for any skill — even if you've been doing it for years. For me, I think it boils down to two things:

First, being a person who cooks is part of my identity. I tell people that I like to cook as my "fun fact," and I always like to volunteer to host a family dinner. To accept that I have room to grow — especially in things as basic as identifying flavor profiles — almost seems... embarrassing. Like I said, I've been cooking (even if it was scrambling eggs) for practically my whole life, so shouldn't I be past the beginner stuff? Fortunately, I've gotten more comfortable with idea of always having something more to learn.

Second, the path of least resistance is always the easiest. It's a lot less effort to maintain a routine than it is to disrupt it, and I have my moments of laziness. I could probably stick to my repertoire of weeknight dinner ideas for several years and be okay. Eventually though, I know I would grow tired of burrito bowls and vegetable fried rice and would need to spice it up. As I learn more about methods, cultures and combinations, whole new worlds of creativity and flavor become available to me.

Don't get me wrong — I think I'm a great cook. I rarely feel like I miss the mark with my efforts, and I'm pretty creative with my recipes. I can take criticism well if I do end up botching a meal. That being said, I'm under no impression that I could start a catering business out of my house any time soon. Even if I could, I also know that even the most talented practitioners can find room for improvement.

The next step is just to keep going because I never want to lose the love for cooking I've always had. I don't need to start from scratch or only cook new recipes from here on out, but I will try to rebuild my foundation with more attention to detail than I had at age 11. Cooking is my creative outlet, a way I show love, and quite honestly a necessity of adulthood. I hope I never stop trying to improve as an at-home chef — and maybe someday I'll even be a teacher for someone else.