I do. I really do. I try, without success, to be good. All I see these days are cooking blogs with recipes made up or tried, Instagram posts of delicious meals and attending potlucks with crazy salads I’d never have thought up ever in my entire life. I do not lie about my love for cooking, I do love it, I love finding recipes of things that my family or I will love and sending it to myself to get on my ipad, tying up my aprons and getting all of my music and wine and everything else that accompanies cooking for me.
Tonight I threw on the audiobook I’m listening to, poured a glass of wine and cracked open a spaghetti squash. Cracked is the most accurate word as I had to put the cutting board on the floor it get it in two pieces.
I love cooking, I own many cookbooks and baking utensils, and I try to spend a good amount of time every week doing so, but my friends I must admit that the things that I make are underwhelming at best. I sometimes absolutely hate what I make, and more and more realize that I need to follow a recipe more often than not, and yet I still find myself grinning away tossing things into a pan.
Does it matter if I am good if I truly enjoy what I do?
I think it is more important to focus on what I am doing while I do it, as opposed to getting extremely disappointed every time something doesn’t taste the way its “supposed” to. I do love that my friends can cook, and they host me to their houses and feed me their food, and we enjoy glasses of wine together. I can do the tasks, the cutting or grating, the mixing, etc., it is the decision making for the cooking that I suck at. I am so jealous of my friends who can just “make.” Food, it seems, is just a love of mine, not a success.
And that’s okay, because I enjoy doing it, and that’s all that matters.
As long as whatever I make is actually edible, because that kind of hobby would become uselessly expensive very quickly.