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"Awakening the Inner Chef"

August 29, 2006

Not a week after graduation, the momentum from the school year’s final push fizzled out. With no papers due and no classes to attend, my psyche became a battleground for two diametrically opposed forces. One was an Apathy that made just the thought of doing anything repulsive, the other, a restless Boredom demanding better use of my time than endless games of Spider Solitaire. Their warring filled me with a numbness and heaviness that seemed to emanate from the depths of my bones. An absolute readiness to leave home and start college only made these conflicting feelings worse. Immobilized by the turbulence inside my head, I had almost resigned myself to a summer of tedium. Fortunately, a hand reached out and rescued me from the ravages of internal warfare. That hand held a measuring spoon.

The recovery started slowly. At first, I simply spent ridiculous amounts of time poring over recipe books. But my unconscious mind knew what it was doing. Drooling over pictures of grilled swordfish with blueberry salsa, pineapple-zucchini bread, and gâteau saint-honoré kept my mind occupied enough to relieve Boredom, but it was sufficiently monotonous that Apathy didn’t register it as a legitimate activity. Yet all the while, fleeting thoughts sprung up in my mind, suggesting (of all the crazy ideas) that someday I could make such delicacies.

As this absurd notion fermented at the back of my mind, I entered the next phase of recovery. Stage two found me imbued with the desire to help in all things kitchen-related. Whenever Mom went grocery shopping, I tagged along. I emptied and reloaded the dishwasher innumerable times. I offered suggestions for dinners. I washed and hulled dozens of strawberries. My zealous volunteerism may have exasperated Mom, but there were occasions when I did actually manage to be helpful. Twice I made crusts for homemade pizza (a Friday night tradition in our family) when Mom was out of the house with other Mom duties. No one noticed any difference between my crusts and Mom’s—a good sign—and I was feeling more and more like I could do the whole cooking thing on my own.

Not that I had no cooking skill whatsoever. Under Mom’s tutelage I’d made various cookies and similar treats, and for my sixteenth birthday she guided me through making a cake from scratch. A couple of times I’d even managed to go solo on macaroni and cheese—the kind you make on the stove with boiling water. Still, my imminent departure for the wide world of adulthood convinced me that I needed utter independence and confidence in the kitchen. And those were two things I still lacked.

My independent culinary experiments started with healthy foods (a recent obsession of mine). First: pumpkin spiced oatmeal. Okay, I was an old hand at oatmeal and didn’t have any problems, but this unorthodox breakfast left behind nearly a cup and a half of canned pumpkin that needed to be used in the very near future. So it was back to the books in search of pumpkin-heavy recipes, ultimately leading me to cider pumpkin bread. As I watched the loaf bake in the oven, I was too busy making sure my masterpiece didn’t explode to be remotely bored or apathetic. I needn’t have worried, though. Pumpkin is not known for explosiveness.

Despite the cider pumpkin bread, there was still half a cup of that pesky pumpkin left, and time was running out before it became mold-infested goo. Vowing to steer clear of pumpkin for the next decade or so, I selected a recipe for whole wheat pumpkin muffins and set to work. I knew my confidence was growing when I was able to resist the urge to ask Mom if the eggs were sufficiently beaten. This time I watched the muffins bake with attentive tenderness instead of worrying that I’d created a dozen raisin-studded pumpkin grenades.

About a week later, we ran out of desserts and Mom asked if I would make something. Happy to help and eager for more practice, I obliged and chose whole wheat chocolate chip cookies. (Yes, even desserts must be semi-healthy.) Despite their ultra-healthy name, the cookies tasted excellent. They were superbly chewy, with soft chocolate chips and (I thought) a wonderful depth of flavor. Here stands proof to one and all that “healthy” and “delicious” can exist harmoniously in the same sentence.

And that’s where it stands. Poised to attempt my next independent baking session, I know that my forays into cooking have not only focused my restless summer energy, but also helped me discover something I could never have imagine just a few years ago: I enjoy cooking! There is something immensely satisfying about watching muffins bake in the oven, an indescribable therapy in the smell of fresh-baked goods, and a delicious naughtiness in sampling just a few chocolate chips to make sure they “haven’t gone bad.” Even though I probably won’t do much cooking while I’m in college, my new skills and my enjoyment of cooking are things I can carry with me my whole life. In any case, I feel certain that, should any club I join decide to have a bake sale, I’ll be ready.

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