What’s Cooking

Jackie ♦ December 20, 2008 ♦ 5 Comments

In a conversation with a co-worker recently, I mentioned that I have recently been daydreaming about getting an attachment for pasta-making for my stand mixer– I have only made homemade pasta once before, at my aunt’s house in Alabama, but I remember it fondly and it seems like it might be a fun project on a day when you have the time for it. She replied, “If I had that kind of time, I’d much rather be sewing or knitting,” and I realized that cooking has officially become my hobby.

I’ve never been a big hobbyist. I’m not athletic, so I don’t follow or practice sports. I don’t know how to play any instruments, and my hand-eye coordination has never been good enough when I have tried to learn, though I absolutely love music. I tried knitting classes, but dropped out and never went back, even though I admire others’ hand-knitted apparel. I tried embroidery for awhile and really enjoyed it, but never seemed to have the time. I have always believed, when it coems to writing, that if you are truly a writer, and feel the passionate urge to write, then you will find the time. Not every day maybe, but that time is not the obstacle in your way. I was thrilled to read that Stephen King agreed with me in On Writing.

I have always been a dedicated and voracious reader and writer, but somehow I don’t think of those pursuits as hobbies– somehow the word seems too trivial for urges that are integral to who I am and always have been. But cooking is a much newer infatuation, one born from necessity when I was pregnant and determined to eat in a more healthy fashion, and continued to grow as I baked cookies with my kids and tried to put dinner on the table every night. My cookbook collection steadily grew, I’ve got a bulging binder of printed and clipped recipes, and my cookware collection is ever-expanding. Some of you reading will realize what an amazing transformation this is for me, and I’m no less shocked than anyone else. I was such a picky, particular eater growing up, and I still am striving towards actual healthy eating habits, so it’s nothing short of a miracle that I’ve come as far as I have.

I’m still trying to figure out exactly what is is about cooking that is so appealing to me. I’ve written a few poems already trying to untangle it all, but have not managed to really make it clear, even for myself. I know that it’s one of my favorite ways to see my friends, asking them over and then plying them with goodies. I know I get such a sweet sense of satisfaction on nights like last night, when I make a meal that everyone at my table truly digs into it with gusto. I know that the more I cook, the more different flavors and foods I’m willing to try myself. All of those results are wonderful ones, right? But there’s something untangible and inexpressible and just lovely to me about the act of cooking.

I still wouldn’t call myself a foodie– my palate is too picky to be that adventurous. There’s a lot I still don’t know, and much I still don’t have. But after trying my hand at other ventures, I think for me, cooking is where it’s at.