Member-only story
Ground Turkey Gave me back Cooking.
Or how I remembered I love to cook.
My father was a chef. He wasn’t famous but I spent a lot of my most formative years in professional kitchens, hanging out with chefs. Most of the chefs our family knew came from all over the world and I developed a love for cooking at their elbows.
When I was little, someone gave me a subscription to a Sesame Street themed cooking thing. Every month I got recipe cards and would make something. My Dad bought me a special knife when I was 5 years old and taught me proper cutting technique. I had my own little step stool, my own apron, and often with supervision run of the kitchen to make things.
I loved to cook. I loved the feeling of giving someone something to eat, seeing them smile. I remember fondly, making a fruit salad I cut up by myself. Of course it was giant ugly chunks of apples and melon drenched in yogurt. But it was my recipe and my cooking. I was so proud.
Over the years, my love of cooking stayed strong. I didn’t cook as often as I would have liked through my adolescence but, I could make some things. And then, early adulthood happened. I was living in poverty, during periods during my early 20s I was deep into a near fatal eating disorder spiral and I forgot I love to cook.
