When she was in her early 20s, my mom made a little recipe book that she would pass on to her kids—she abandoned it after a few entries, but gave me the book nonetheless. I wish I knew how to cook, so I could finish the book and pass it down to my own kids, but the most I can do is a good scrambled egg, and rice (I can cook other things too but these are what taste the best). I’ve always admired those people who eyeball ingredients and use instinct to decide whether their stew needs more flavouring or not; those people who walk into a kitchen and cook up a storm because it’s second nature to them. Not to mention, I’m a super picky eater so often times I prefer to prepare my own meals at home, than to have someone else do it for me. If I can just learn how to cook food—the type of food that my kids will know me and remember home for—my entire life would be complete.
