My junior spring in college, I packed my bags and headed to Paris. I had left home for boarding school when I was 15, so I didn’t expect the homesickness that befell me when I got there. Oh, there was the usual conundrum of getting acculturated, getting around, developing a personality and sense of humor that fit my 8-year-old French vocabulary, sure. But I had prepared myself for that. What no one had told me about the study abroad experience was how physical hunger can trigger an emotional one.

“Not in Paris!” you might be thinking. Yes, in Paris. A student can only afford to go out for mussels and French onion soup with a side of perfectly made vegetarian couscous so many times, so getting to eat well depended on cooking my own dinner, something I had never done before. If it weren’t for one of my best friends in college who was better at cooking than I and enjoyed hosting dinner, I may have spent my four months in Paris sustaining myself on lentil soup in a can and scrambled eggs doused in soy sauce, as I had the first three weeks I was there.

So began my sad love/hate relationship with the kitchen.

Fast forward ten years, I moved from New York City (another safe haven for those who can’t cook and prefer to easily buy take out on the cheap) to Ann Arbor, Michigan, with my fiance, who’s a little bit braver in the kitchen than I. This blog is my re-introduction to the kitchen. I will try out recipes I find online, play with them based on reviews and my own instinct (as I develop one, that is), and post my findings, with my honest recommendations.

These creations will not be all fantastic, but they will all be made with love, which my sister says makes any dish at least a few notches yummier.

  1. Tayseer says:

    This is all too familiar 🙂
    My cooking debut also started when I had no other choice but to pluck the feathers off the freshly slaughtered rooster in China as a student. I read years later that leaving the bird in hot water for a few minutes would make the plucking WAY easier.. if only I knew that then!

    I never loved cooking, or the kitchen and always avoided it. Till I got married and it was either my husband of myself who must volunteer to the duty. Somehow, the responsibility of preparing meals didn’t sound as bad as it did before. My first experiment was fish fillet with bechamel and rice. Nothing went wrong, and the rice came out perfect. The sight of my husband enjoying my food, our first home cooked meal as a couple, changed the way I felt about the kitchen. I also started to look at vegetables more affectionately in the grocery stores (25 years, I never bought groceries on my own!).

    Like you said, when cooking for those you love the most, and your friends who enjoy your company and your food, it adds another dimension to your spirit.

    • myrapalmero says:

      Much love, Tayseer, I absolutely agree. I agree – there is something immediately more exciting about being able to cook for those you love most. Not even boiled cup noodles tastes the same when I’m cooking it for friends and family.

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