Culinary Undergrad

Zachary led the way as cook in our home.

He was the first to be intrigued by raised gardens, preserved lemons, and pizza dough. During the years of our courtship, he prepared two unforgettable meals for me. One was a butternut squash soup. The other a Philippine dish called, chicken adobo.

In the early days, I was concerned I’d never be able to cook as well as my husband could. It didn’t matter because he loved cooking and happily took on the role of head chef.

I was an eager student and sous. Helping with the chopping and following instructions. I watched in amazement while he brought me along on the adventure of making these beautiful dinners from start to finish. Chicken piccata, stir-fry, and creamy pastas whipped together in tiny college kitchen apartments. I was delighted by all the delicious food we could make at home.

As the pace of life quickened, work grew more demanding for Zachary. Our family was growing and the responsibility for meals was one I desired to pick up but had little confidence how to navigate on my own.

I had taken the few recipes I had learned from him and tired them after a year or two of repetition. So I began trying new recipes or collecting some favorites from our mothers and testing them out.

Zachary has always been such a gracious and patient dinner recipient— even to some pretty atrocious failures. When my southern biscuits came out like hardtack, bless his heart, he praised me all the same for trying.

While pregnant and living in Brooklyn, I thought I’d do something about my kitchen boredom. By then my palate had slightly matured from all the wonderful meals we shared all over the country and even a few international places too.

I walked to our neighborhood bookstore, Books Are Magic, and cruised the cookbook section. Two books came home with me that afternoon but the one that changed everything was: Melissa Clark’s, Dinner.

I spent the next month stocking the pantry with ingredients and staples she suggested and drooling over the pages. For several years, I’d cook her recipes from cover to cover. Many nights a week Zachary came home to a new dish to try and his responses were beyond (and geninuely) encouraging.

The pleasure and responses of my family motivated me to keep going. I’d begin collecting more cookery books and trying new things.

In time, my birthday cakes improved. I can still remember a wonky graduation cake I made for Zachary our first year of courtship. Yellow tinted frosting with navy, chunky, cut-out fondant stars. The blue turned the tongue and teeth a frightening color. I unveiled it from under it’s plastic cake stand at a posh restaurant as through it was professionally made.

I still cringe.

Eventually the basics of cooking and baking settled in. I was gradually improving in my ability to follow a recipe with some success. As the children have grown and margins fluctuate we’ve taken on newer challenges like bread and pasta making, gardening, canning and using a counter-sized flour mill. My how things have changed.

Somewhere in those years, the unavoidable challenge of preparing exciting food each evening for our family became a joy forever. It’s funny how that happens so unexpectedly. So slowly. I am very much in my undergraduate years of my homecooking career but I owe all the love, the fun, and the motivation to my first teachers— both near and far.