Once upon a time, I roamed this planet as a vegetarian. There wasn't an especially moral reason behind it; the dietary choice just made sense at the time. It was something that carried over into mothering my child (who remains a staunch, vehement vegetarian).
I started eating meat here and there a few years ago (salmon was the gateway) and began eating it regularly again after meeting my boyfriend and finding out just how many delicious meat-based meals there are out there. I reconnected with my inner child and found out that — surprise! — I still love eating meat from time to time.
There was one problem, though: When it came to cooking the meat, any meat, I was pretty nervous.
Here's the thing about me: I enjoy nurturing the people I love. I also spent a long time in a relationship where that wasn't something I got to do — in that relationship, my role was to be the planner, the organizer, the driver, the accountant. I nurtured my son but also spent a lot of time keeping everything together, juggling multiple jobs, and feeling like I was always treading water. It wasn't comfortable and it wasn't OK (for me), and I'm no longer in that situation now.
Baking has been one way that I show people that I love them, especially my kid. We have often baked together — cookies, cakes, brownies, you name it. And in the last year, cooking meals in general has become a way that I can make the people I love feel really good, inside and out. I'm delighted by this; it's like I have a secret bit of magic that isn't that hard but goes much further than I would have thought.
When we first moved in together, my boyfriend always cooked whatever meal had meat in it. At the time, I was still eating only fish and chicken; I was OK cooking fish, but for some reason chicken really freaked me out. What if I poisoned us? Is it supposed to look this color? What about that color?
I'll never forget the first time he asked me to keep an eye on the chicken while he showered, and I literally stood at the stove staring at it while it sizzled and popped and I surreptitiously googled "what color should chicken be when you cook it" so I could make sure I did a great job. He was in and out before it got hectic, and I was soon off the hook.
When I started cooking chicken on my own, I kept it pretty basic: stovetop, olive oil, salt, pepper. It was … OK. It was nothing that a fairly significant amount of hot sauce couldn't cure. I wanted to be better! I wanted to learn. I wanted the man I love to bite into the food I made, close his eyes, and say, "Damn!"
Now that I'm about a year into this chicken-cooking journey, I can proudly say I've achieved that several times over. I have multiple ways I make chicken! My favorites all include butter and paprika, but I'm so confident now that I just throw stuff in there to see what will happen. I can bake, grill, or fry it. I'm practically a professional, and I was entirely motivated by love to learn.
Learning to cook chicken primarily for my boyfriend is something that might have hit differently a few years ago, but these days I'm happy when the person I love is happy, too. In a roundabout way, I've learned a lot about how we need to always stay open to becoming different versions of ourselves over the years and that, just as it's true for everyone we love, we don't know everything about who we are and what we can do (or like to do).
Love will have you out here doing any number of things, and for me, I'm happy it's got me out here learning how to make meals that bring my family closer and closer together.
