The Dishes Almost Kept Me From Learning to Cook.
I write a lot about learning the metric system.
It probably seems like an odd thing to get excited about, but switching from cups and teaspoons to weighing ingredients changed the way I cook. Recipes became more consistent. Bread rose the way it was supposed to. Sauces tasted the way I imagined they would. The more I cooked, the more I realized that precision wasn’t taking the joy out of cooking.
It was giving me confidence.
I started cooking because I love food.
Good food.
Not expensive food.
Just food made with care.
For a long time, I thought learning to cook would be the hardest part.
I was wrong.
Believe it or not, what almost kept me from cooking wasn’t the recipes.
It was the dishes.
The pots and pans.
The cutting boards.
The greasy stove.
The food splattered across the counter.
The crumbs on the floor.
All the little reminders that every good meal leaves something behind.
I can’t tell you how many times I’ve made a meal that turned out exactly the way I hoped. I’d taste as I cooked, adjusting a little salt here, another pinch of pepper there, until everything felt right.
Then I’d sit down and realize something.
I wasn’t hungry anymore.
I’d spent so much time smelling the food and tasting the food that by the time dinner was finished, I was exhausted.
The kitchen looked like a disaster.
And now I had another job waiting for me.
That’s when I realized something.
Cooking isn’t just about cooking.
It’s about planning.
These days I rarely cook for just one meal.
If I’m already chopping vegetables, washing dishes, heating the oven, and dirtying a sink full of bowls, I might as well make enough for a few days. I try to keep a few meal-prepped meals in the refrigerator or freezer for the evenings when I don’t feel like cooking at all.
That one change made cooking easier.
But another lesson changed everything.
I learned something embarrassingly simple.
The dishwasher has to be empty before I start cooking.
Otherwise, everything backs up.
Dirty dishes stay in the sink because there’s nowhere for them to go.
Bowls pile up.
Utensils pile up.
Before long, one small task I skipped yesterday becomes today’s biggest obstacle.
It was such a simple lesson.
But I don’t think it’s only about dishwashers.
How often do we avoid doing something we love because of one small part we don’t enjoy?
Maybe it isn’t cooking.
Maybe it’s writing.
The writing isn’t the hard part.
Editing is.
Maybe it’s exercising.
The workout isn’t the hard part.
Putting on your shoes is.
Sometimes the thing standing between us and the life we want isn’t the dream.
It’s the cleanup.
And then there’s another lesson every cook eventually learns.
The food doesn’t always turn out the way you imagined.
Sometimes you follow the recipe exactly, and something still feels off.
Sometimes you try a new ingredient, and it simply doesn’t work.
Sometimes dinner is just… okay.
And that’s okay.
Not every meal has to become your signature dish.
Not every attempt has to be perfect.
Every meal teaches you something.
Every mistake teaches you something.
The next one is usually a little better.
I think writing works the same way.
Most people only see the finished essay.
They don’t see the sentences that were deleted.
The paragraphs rewritten five times.
The moments you stare at the screen wondering why the words won’t come.
They don’t see the work before the work.
The same is true of cooking.
People see the meal.
They don’t see the planning.
They don’t see the grocery list.
They don’t see the dishes.
They don’t see the quiet work that made any of it possible.
I’ve come to believe that’s true of almost everything worthwhile.
The parts people applaud are usually the parts everyone can see.
The parts that change us are usually the ones no one ever notices.
Maybe that’s why we should give ourselves a little more grace.
The work no one sees is still work.
Sometimes it’s the dishes.
Sometimes it’s the planning.
Sometimes it’s simply emptying yesterday’s dishwasher so today’s work has somewhere to begin.
And more often than not…
It’s the work that matters most.
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Resources for Hard Times
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