There’s nothing like attempting a new recipe. Flipping through cookbooks, selecting the recipe, shopping for ingredients, and finally putting everything together until something magical happens.
Or at least that’s the hope anyway, that something magical comes out. I pulled my hair up high into a bun, adjusted my glasses, and leaned closer to the cookbook.
“One-third cup of good olive oil,” I muttered to myself. I had already chopped and prepped the vegetables and had organized my spices, but now I had to decide whether my $8 on-sale bottle of olive oil was considered “good” enough. I briefly considered returning to the store, but couldn’t bare the thought. “Good enough,” I replied aloud to my silent inquiry.
As I began sauteeing onions and garlic and adding the fresh tomatoes that would become a rich sauce, my worries began to dissipate. That’s part of the reason I love to cook, I find it deeply meditative. I became lost in stirring, tasting so that I could adjust as I went. I inhaled deeply, taking in the delicious aroma of the sauce. This would be magical.
“Smells good.”