From Broil to Boil

After years of being banned from the kitchen I decided it was time to face my fear. I made a new year’s resolution to cook more. It wasn’t to cook anything extravagant. It was just a simple goal of actually cooking. My mother was excited and timid, timid because she was the one who banned me from the kitchen after the fire incident.  She was only aware of one of the incidents that occurred. I thought the “broil” button was the same as “boil.” It wasn’t, and it set all the pans in the oven on fire, instead of heating the water up like I wanted. The other incident was when a friend and I were making one of those oven top popcorns. I thought you had to open it. My friend corrected me and we sealed it back up, so we thought. The kernels popped out and under the burners, causing another fire. I decided that I no longer wanted to even attempt to cook even if it was pop-corn or macaroni and cheese, however, waiting for someone else to make food got very old and boring. It occurred to me that something had to be done.

I started with simple things like baking cupcakes or cookies for the guys at work. They were basic snacks that were as simple as add water, stir, and bake. After seeing how much my co-workers enjoyed the goodies, I decided I should try bigger and better things. It wasn’t easy and my mother was getting annoyed with all my stupid questions. Those questions included, “Is baking powder and baking soda the same?” or “Was I supposed to spray the pan?” “What’s the abbreviation for tablespoon?” Desserts were basic things; I still hadn’t even faced a dinner item that wasn’t a salad.

When 2012 rolled around I decided as a 20-year-old I should really know how to cook food. By food I meant meat. I had yet to ever touch raw meat. The idea of it really grossed me out, especially with my mother yelling, “Don’t touch anything! Wash your hands immediately!” I was beginning to think we would all end up in the hospital if I accidently touched something. She was annoyed, but at the same time my ignorance kept her amused. Among these were, “So this is what a cow’s butt feels like.” After the fear of touching it came the fear of cutting it. A slippery chicken breast and sharp knife didn’t sound like fun to me. After conquering that I had to face the oil when you put it in the hot pan. On a number of occasions my hands were covered in little red spots that I thought were mosquito bites. They were actually burns from the flying oil. After the process of preparing and cooking everything was the end result. Finally I got to taste what all my hard work had gone into and it was delicious.

It wasn’t an easy journey for me or my family but I like to think that I now could survive on real food and not TV dinners. I’ve actually done well since I haven’t set any more fires. Now I can proudly say that I can make chicken parmesan and stuffed shells along with yummy desserts from scratch. I guess you could call me the next Julia Child.

Welcome to my World,

Emily Holtgrefe