How I Lost My Kitchen Mojo

You know the old saying “it’s just like riding a bike.”  It implies that even if you take a lengthy break from a skill that is well developed, you will retain that skill no matter how long it’s been.  I really thought cooking would be like that. 

I should have remembered that I once tried to ride a bike after a hiatus of over a decade and that didn’t work out so well, either.

I grew up in a family of good cooks.  Dining at a restaurant was a rare special occasion.  This continued into adulthood.  I loved going to restaurants from time to time but habit and budget kept it as a special treat.

Through a long series of events (isn’t it always that way!) I quit cooking and we began subsisting almost entirely on restaurant food.  At first it was fun and the kids loved picking out where we would go next.  Two or even three meals a day at a restaurant became the norm.  Everyone orders what they want and there are no dishes to wash.  Why wouldn’t everyone love this? 

Now let’s jump ahead several years…

Everyone became weary of constant treks to restaurants.  The decision over which place we would go became a pitched battle that ended with someone (usually me) sobbing.  Cries of “Mom, do you even know how to cook anymore?” were heard.  The groans from my bathroom scale were even louder.  It was time for Mom to cook again!

It seems simple.  But it wasn’t.  It was a disaster.  My timing was off.  Before, I could turn out a complex, multi-course meal with ease.  Now at dinner time, the baked chicken was raw, the rolls were burned, and the asparagus forgotten in the refrigerator drawer.  More than one dinner ended up in the garbage while we high-tailed it to our nearest eatery.

My tears were from more than the tendrils of acrid smoke escaping the oven.  I couldn’t even manage to estimate what time dinner would be served.  More than once, my 5:30 dinner ended up on the table around 8.  What was happening to me?

After some soul searching, I decided to go back to basics.  I would actually use recipes.

Did you just gasp?  Because if you didn’t, you should have.

I realized that my kitchen mojo didn’t just materialize.  It developed.  I started as a recipe-following cook.  From there, I learned how and, most important, when to improvise.  Soon, I had developed my own repertoire that was always evolving. 

I call it “jazz cooking.”  It’s where you start with a basic idea for dinner and then riff on it as you go.  There’s no plan, it’s all free-form.  I can’t count the number of times I started cooking dinner with one thing in mind and ended up with something entirely different on the plate.  It does have one serious drawback: I can rarely duplicate a dish.  But it keeps it interesting for both the cook and the family.

So now I have started over again and I am happy to report that I am making great strides.  Dinner last night was less than an hour later than I originally estimated.  I turned out a full Tex-Mex dinner with no disasters and made the family happy.  For a few moments, anyway.

I feel back at home in the kitchen.  We are eating in restaurants about half as much as we once were, a number that seems to work well for us.  And finally, my bathroom scales have greatly reduced the sarcastic comments and exaggerated sighs.  But I find that bathroom scales are overly dramatic, anyway.