I love cooking. I haven’t been doing it for all that long – only since December 2015. I started cooking in a bit of a strange way. You see, I’d just moved from university residence to an apartment – meaning that I no longer had access to the university’s dining halls. Uh oh, right?
Not so much. I was lucky enough to have one of the town’s three supermarkets 5 minutes of a walk away from my new apartment. I also had a 24 hour mini-mart right across the road from me. That meant that when I was trying to figure out recipes and combinations, it was quick and easy for me to run out and get some new thing that most kitchens had as staples.
I was also incredibly lucky because two girls that I knew were in their final year at the university and passed on to me all the kitchen paraphernalia that they’d accumulated – spices, pasta, baking things. That made things much easier on me.
After that, it was trial and error. I’d never cooked anything by myself but I had wandered through the kitchen while my mother or my grandmother were cooking and I’d somehow managed to absorb what they did. That handy little skill was pretty easy to turn to meals that I’d had in restaurants and the like and before I knew it, I was cooking!
I loved it. I loved the sense of accomplishment I felt after turning a bunch of raw ingredients into something that looked, smelled and tasted great. (I especially loved eating what I made). Back when I had a flatmate and friends who could walk to my house, I fed them all (a little too much, at times).
My favorite part of cooking is adapting things, trying out new ways of making things and, at the end, having a new recipe that I can share with other people so they too can enjoy this new food.