“how to cut celery”

Wherein, as a bonus, I showcase some of the yummy stuff I’ve cooked so far this year.

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When I first got married, I was extremely unconfident in the kitchen. I don’t say incompetent, because given a decent recipe and enough space and time, I could make good food. However, I was nervous about every step, so I read each one at least twice, worked painfully slowly and only by the book, and I could not handle the imagined pressure and judgment of another person observing me while I tried to cook.

The first time I cooked dinner for Justin, early in our dating, I made french toast. When he tried to offer a suggestion about what to put in the egg mixture, I may have yelled at him to get out of the kitchen. Folks, it’s a miracle he asked me on another date after that incident.

I now welcome his advice and enjoy sharing the kitchen with him. But six years ago, as a newbie homemaker, I really needed my space.

So, I usually started meal prep shortly after lunch, so that by the time Justin got home from work, my mess would be cleaned up, and hopefully the only evidence left of my afternoon’s endeavor would be sumptuous smells from the kitchen. No one would ever have to know how many times I pitifully attempted some technique, or how many cutting boards or mixing bowls got dirty before I settled on one the right size.

On one such afternoon, I was making a tomato-basil-parmesan soup for the first time, and the recipe called for finely chopped carrots, celery, and onion. I was dreading the tediousness of having to cut down 2 stalks worth of celery into teensy cubes. I was imagining slicing thin half moons, then trying to dice those into pieces. I decided to google “how to cut celery;” immediately thought, “Wow, this is embarrassing;” then looked down at my screen to discover an extraordinarily helpful step-by-step photo guide explaining exactly how to produce the small dice celery I needed, pretty painlessly. (Hint: slice the long way leaving the leafy end intact, then chop up the stalk from root to leaf.)

I. Was. Amazed.

I didn’t need culinary school, I had the internet!

Did I mention that Justin had (lovingly) threatened to send me to cooking school? After the french toast incident (“I want to cook for you! But I’m a mess of nerves”), he insisted that I practice cooking dinner about once a month throughout our dating. He let me pick a recipe, he would go buy the ingredients, then I would prepare it, usually in his kitchen, while he was safe on a couch in the next room watching TV and not watching me. Once a month for three years wasn’t enough to get me over all my insecurities, so we agreed that one year from our wedding day, if I hadn’t “gotten comfortable” yet, I would sign up for culinary school. I can happily report that I actually impressed him (and myself!) by the end of that year, and I’ve never been to cooking school after all.

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After looking up how to cut celery, I tried to stop being embarrassed about not having a clue in the kitchen, and instead got busy looking up help when I needed it. I once found an entire website about everything about onions. The anonymity of the internet gave my pride permission to admit “I don’t know,” and with every google search, my confidence (and my skills!) grew. It still took a lot of trial and error to learn, for example, that when bloggers I found on Pinterest suggest half a teaspoon of chipotle powder, I need to knock that down to half a pinch, or no one in my family will be able to eat it.

I do still get intimidated. I got ramekins for Christmas one year, which I had asked for with the express purpose in mind of trying my hand at making soufflé. I finally did last June for Father’s Day: an 18 month delay.

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More recently, after my success with white bread, I thought I’d like to try making whole wheat bread, which is what we usually buy at the store for our toast and sandwiches. I found a recipe, bought the ingredients, and then…never could commit to baking it, with its overnight “sponge” and “soaker” components, and three rises. The bread flour and wheat germ I’d bought for it were actually getting close to their expiration dates when I finally took that plunge a couple weeks ago. (Quarantine Baking, anyone?) The first batch over-proved on the third rise. I was simultaneously deep-frying some chicken, so my attention was divided and my kitchen was quite warm. The second batch went better than the first, but the crust got too dark because I forgot to turn down the oven temperature at the proper time. I hope the third time will be the charm when we run out of the current batch! I mean, it’s definitely been edible each time so far, but it just took me forever to be willing to risk failure and actually do it.

Now, Justin is still far and away the better cook in our household. He’s more of a chef. He can make things up as he goes, with great success. And he has more finesse with the techniques. I am still pretty much a sous chef. I follow recipes. I’m beginning to be able to improvise ingredient substitutions, but I often still consult with Justin before making adjustments.

I can admit, though, that I have made a lot of progress in six years.

Besides trial-and-error and Google, I’ve had various cookbooks, TV shows, and grandmas help me hone my cooking skills. I’m now willing to learn from anyone with more experience than I have—which honestly is still most people—rather than being afraid of someone’s judgment.

My kids, however, can actually learn from me. A couple nights ago, they requested mac’n’cheese, then asked if they could help. I gave them the condition that they had to be willing to hop down from their chair at the counter to go entertain the baby at any time. They said they were willing.

Two kids on one chair. All the ingredients prepped mise en place style. Me in my apron.

I explained what a roux is and how I was making it, as Luke dumped in our little bowl of flour and spices. Miryam carefully dumped the noodles into the other pot (of boiling water) as I reminded them both not to touch the hot pans. I did make them get down out of my elbow’s way when I was incrementally adding milk with one hand while continuously whisking with the other. They climbed back up. Miryam stirred the noodles periodically. They took turns adding handfuls of grated cheese into the bechamel I was stirring, and they waited so patiently for one handful to melt fully before adding another. They brought Cecily new toys to play with or made silly faces at her to make her giggle.

Miryam also loves Caesar salad, so I offered to pair that with our mac’n. Assent. All right, you two go set the table while I make the salad.

When I brought the salad to the table three minutes later, Miryam was impressed.
“Mommy, how did you make salad that fast?”
“I’m just that awesome!”

She will learn about salad kits one day, I suppose. Sometimes Justin makes Caesar dressing from scratch, and I tear up the leaves and grate the cheese. One time I even made the croutons. So perhaps that ultra gourmet salad was what she thought I did in three minutes. In fact, though, all I did was open, dump, toss. I unabashedly love salad kits. But the kids take so many things I do for granted, that I decided to just accept her praise without further explanation this time.

I can almost never cook unobserved anymore. I ask Justin to get in the kitchen to help me instead of out of the kitchen to not watch me. (I feel I must also point out that he volunteers to cook our dinner relatively often, and he never says No when I request that he cook. He’s pretty fantastic.) The big kids are sometimes on a chair beside me, though more frequently they’re lurking underfoot (to my dismay) or zooming by in their cozy coupes. Cecily might be having an appetizer in her high chair, or bouncing in the jumperoo, next to me. I’m certainly glad I got over my “being observed” anxiety years ago!

I think it’s fair to say that everyone was a beginner in the beginning. Tell me in the comments below: What is something you have had to google in the kitchen?