It hit me. I needed to feed myself. My parents had been lovingly cooking me scrumptious meals up until I came to college. In return, I had fattened them up with my expertly baked goodies. Obviously, a completely fair and fantastic trade for the both of us, don’t you think? But, as I stood in the doorway of my new apartment’s kitchen, toying with the idea of surviving off of sweet treats and scrambled eggs, I resigned myself to the fact that embarking on a “learning to cook” journey was the only option. Despite the countless trays of cookies, batches of brownies, and tins of cupcakes I’d slaved over, I’d never so much as laid a hand on a piece of raw chicken. This journey, scary as it seemed, was necessary. It would begin with the search for the perfect apron.
You see, when I take on a project my inner perfectionist goes a bit crazy. I crave organization. Lists, piles, folders, accessories- they make me inexplicably giddy. So, I figured that any self-respecting cook would undoubtedly tell me to begin my list with one task: finding the apron of my dreams. After all, you must look the part. I debated going the girly route: flowers, ruffles, bows. Or, there was the practical route: pockets, coverage, quite frankly boring. Nothing was quite right. Remembering the most adorable apron I had taken a picture of at the flea market over the summer, I had an epiphany. My aunt, seamstress extraordinaire, could sew me the apron of my dreams. And sew she did.
The apron turned out identical to my flea market inspiration above (with a slightly different color scheme). Feeling on top of the world in my fancy shmancy new apron, I was ready to begin. One year later, here I am. Though my dinners still don’t hold a candle to my cookies (No seriously, they are pretty darn good. Right, Daddy?), they’re getting there.
With little time and even less money, I’m learning to cook. Care to join?