I love food. I mean, who doesn't? I miss living at home because there is nothing like walking into the house and having the delicious scents of home-cooking fill your nostrils. I appreciate fine dining as well of course, but as those experiences are few and far between, I long instead for the homemade victories of my mom and family members that make you feel like you just as well could be sitting at a dark wood table surrounded by candlelight and waiters in white.
Ever since I started college my daily dining experience has significantly diminuished in enjoyment. It started with night after night of cafeteria dining which, admittedly, was much better than expected, but since it is incredibly overpriced, I am now left to my own devices. I used to love cooking. I even prepared, rather successfully, the whole Christmas dinner in my junior year of high school. When I had more time and a full fridge and pantry of ingredients, I was much more likely to get creative in the kitchen, or to get in the kitchen at all. A full schedule, limited equipment, and having to buy my own groceries, has made me less inspired. I instead turn to quick easy food which results in me eating a lot of eggs, canned soup, or fast food. The problem with this is I get bored, eat unhealthily, or spend way more than necessary.
Trips home or to the cousins' fill me up with delicious food and a little bit of inspiration. The love of cooking that my mom and family possess is contagious. I see them getting excited about recipes, trying new things, and loving the appreciation of the guests' full stomachs. After my weekend home for Thanksgiving that included treasures such as a banana pumpkin tart, orange sweet potato pie, and a bake-off with caramel for its star ingredient, I felt it was about time I get my groove on in the kitchen. I headed back to my humble dorm kitchen with a couple more ideas and recipe books.
Last night I was ready to get back into the spirit of cooking and stopped at the grocery store on my way home to stock up on some staple items as well as the ingredients for my recipe for stove-top chili. I get home only to realize I have no pot large enough to cook my proposed concoction. After a friend came to the rescue with a hefty pot, I was ready to go. I prepared all the ingredients and started browning the beef. It smelled delicious. After chopping all the onions and garlic, I added them to the pot. Tears streaming down my face from the sizzling onion juices, I started opening cans of beans and tomatoes. Mid-crank of the last can my three dollar can-opener decided it had had enough. Being resourceful and needing those diced tomatoes, I attempted to open the can using the pointy end intended for chicken stock and juice cans. Bad idea. As I was prying at the now-jagged edges of the can to make a hole big enough to squeeze out the juicy tomatoes, I made a jab a little too strong and sliced my finger wide open. Swear words streaming at the same rate of the blood, I held my hand under cold water, still attempting to get the tomatoes from the can without burning my chili that was bubbling on the stove. One hand under the faucet, the other shaking the can relentlessly and hopelessly over the pot, I somehow managed to get the tomatoes into the pot with limited bloodshed.
Not a grand return to the culinary world.
Three hours later, I had one amazing chili stewing in the pot. I dont know if it was karma or the blood and tears that went into it, but I have never tasted anything so satisfying. I guess cooking is always an adventure. You never know what is going to happen. It could come out delicious or tasteless, burnt or cooked to perfection, success or royal fail. It follows suit to the randomness of dining experiences. But as in my sometimes hostile love towards yummy food, I have a certain love/hate relationship with cooking. Although my finger was almost severed and it was a lot more effort than expected, the end result was so worth it. I guess if you love food enough and are willing to take risks and put in the effort, cooking can be just as fun as eating the results.
