If You Think Cooking Is Hard, You're Probably Overthinking It

“I don’t know if it’s any good” - said my mom while putting soup on the dinner table - “It’s an experiment, I added the weird spices your brother brought us from Egypt, and it probably messed everything up”.

This wasn’t the first time I heard her saying this. She adds this kind of disclaimer with pretty much every meal. Egyptian spices or not, traditional or new recipe, everything is experimental for some reason and can’t ever be trusted to taste well.

No wonder I always thought cooking was crazy complicated. That’s the impression I got watching my mom for so many years. If she’s not confident in her skills after 50 years of cooking daily, what chances do I have to ever figure it out?

On the rare occasions I did decide to cook something, my process was always chaotic. For the first half an hour I’d just browse recipes online waiting for inspiration to strike me. I rarely had any ingredients at home, so I had to go grocery shopping before I even had a chance to touch a pot or pan. Even if everything went exactly as I planned, which rarely happened, by the end of it I was completely exhausted and left with a big pile of dishes to clean up. I just couldn’t justify putting this much effort every single day for some very unimpressive results.

Luckily, impressive results isn’t what my daughter is after. She just wants some plain boring food that will make her feel loved and cared for. In the beginning I tried to give her some of the takeout and delivery meals we’d often order at that time but she wasn’t too fond of them. When I tried to give her ramen, she’d prefer to eat just the noodles. When I offered her some Thai curry, she’d only have the rice. After a while I had to accept that if I want her to eat a balanced diet I will have to provide it mostly myself.

I’m glad that my daughter doesn’t have sophisticated tastes, because it would complicate things a lot while we’re cooking together. She often hangs over the pot, pulls kitchen utensils out of my hand, or requests that she’ll slice the onion herself. There’s no way I could do everything from grocery shopping to prep to cooking to cleanup with her all on the same day. I had to completely reinvent my process in order to make it work.

Last Monday it looked like this: I took some onions out of my pantry and asked my daughter to help me peel them. I sliced the onions while she was throwing the peels in the compost bin. She helped me press the garlic, then took a spoonful of butter and put it in the heated pan. When garlic and onions were done, she helped me open a can of tomatoes and add it there. She hung over the pan for the whole time stirring it up, then added some salt on the tip of a small spoon. Then I put it all in a blender, and that’s it.

Onions, garlic, butter, tomatoes, and salt. That’s enough to make a pretty nice comfort soup. I had all these things in my pantry already, so the whole process took us about half an hour. It was so simple that a two year old girl could play an active role at every step. And the soup tasted at least as good as anything I had as a kid, if not better.

If I knew cooking could be this easy and effortless, I might have done more of it in my 20s. Instead, most of the meals I made until recently felt like a source of stress. What should I make this time? What if they don’t have all the ingredients in my store? How do I time everything together so that nothing gets over or undercooked? What seasoning and spices should I use exactly and how much? I thought you’re either born with an intuitive sense for it, or you ask yourself such questions all the time. If my mom still doesn’t seem to know what would make a certain dish come out any good, how could I?

I can only guess why my mom still isn’t confident in her cooking skills. Perhaps it has something to do with fear of rejection or criticism? I know it’s heartbreaking to pour your whole heart into something that people aren’t happy with, I’m almost done with that yellow poncho my daughter asked me for many times and now she doesn’t even want to try it on. When she turns down the soup we made together after just one spoon, at least I’ve only spent half an hour making it rather than twenty.

But the more often I try, the more often I learn to make something she loves, and then I can repeat the same dish exactly the same way. When something works well I don’t have to experiment anymore, or I can only do it for fun when I really feel like it.

Today I made ramen for the first time, and while it was much more complicated that a plain blended soup, I already know what I should differently the next time to make the whole process easier. And even though the meat could have been juicier and the eggs could have been soft-boiled, I confidently told my family it’s a damn fine ramen that I’m very proud of, and that the next one will be even better. If I want people to be happy with the results of my cooking, I’d better make sure I’m happy with them myself.