Ode to Cooking

I've never been much of a cook; at least, it's never been something I've included in my list of talents. When Kirk & I first got married, I could make tuna helper (and most of the time, I'd even remember the tuna) and a few other things. We lived largely on pizza rolls and assorted fried foods until Adam was born and all the sudden the dynamic of my life changed. I started spending more time at home. I quit my job. I had this inexplicable desire to feed my family something worth eating. So I started to cook.

Now, don't misunderstand. I've really not learned anything new, and I am certainly no master of the culinary arts. All I've done is apply my excellent box-reading skills (... add 1/2 cup of milk and stir frequently) to slightly more complex recipes. I do not cook from scratch, and I try not to cook anything that has more than 8 ingredients or that includes items with names I cannot pronounce. After many hours of searching and occasional "new recipe" months, I've gathered about 60 recipes which meet my requirements, and I am proud of the meals I put on the table.

I didn't realize just how proud I was until my younger brother recently ate dinner at our house. It was a Wednesday, and I was cooking orange-barbeque chicken and making french fries from actual potatoes. As he was helping me prepare dinner, he asked, "Do you always eat like this?" I laughed as I responded in the affirmative. He continued, "I never thought anyone would actually take the time to make french fries from scratch."

At this point I realized that even though cooking is still not really something I love, I guess I've gotten pretty good at it.