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[The December Days theme this year is "Things I Used To Fully Believe About Myself." Some of these things might be familiar, some of them might be things you still believe about yourself, and some of them may be painful and traumatic for you based on your own beliefs and memories. The nice thing about text is that you can step away from it at any point and I won't know.]
#14: "I can't cook."
At this point, I think the pattern is a bit more apparent: if I say some kind of sweeping statement about not being able to do something, the correct response is "What do you mean by that?" By asking that question, you can usually discover that the standards, definitions, or rules that I have created for myself about what actually counts as doing the thing are different than what you might think is a good definition.
( Behold the backstory and the somewhat ridiculous definition I have imposed on myself )
It can sound silly, but sometimes, when the weasels are biting, following a recipe still doesn't show up as cooking, even when it's delicious at the end, because the weasels have kidnapped the goalposts and moved them over to somewhere that says "only things that have been created from your own mind, with the ingredients available, and without following or referring to someone else's recipe counts as cooking." (This, as I come to the realization that I prepared and cooked all of the components of the cornbread and sausage dressing for November Feast, even if the more experienced chef checked to make sure the cornbread had cooked all the way through and helped import knowledge to me about the different uses of the pans and why assume work better than others for certain techniques. So, in a very real sense, I did cook that, end to end, even as my brain protests that I was only sous chef for it.) Even though at least one of my relatives was claimed to be able to burn water, and another once got a sardonic reply from a grandmother about whether he was still listening after saying he'd heard no complaints, it turns out that so long as I know what the techniques are and what's being asked of me to do, I can produce delicious food. Recipes preferred, at least for the first few times, because that way I know what the intended result is and from there, if need be, the tinkering aspect can take over. (Or when I'm staring at a refrigerator full of leftovers, I can clear out several of the containers by going "I'll bet these all go together great, especially with a little seasoning and saucing to accompany the reheating. And cheese." No, that's not cooking, either, weren't you paying attention? That's reheating leftovers. The cooking already happened from someone else.)
Interrogate the premise. You'll discover all sorts of fun things hiding there.
#14: "I can't cook."
At this point, I think the pattern is a bit more apparent: if I say some kind of sweeping statement about not being able to do something, the correct response is "What do you mean by that?" By asking that question, you can usually discover that the standards, definitions, or rules that I have created for myself about what actually counts as doing the thing are different than what you might think is a good definition.
( Behold the backstory and the somewhat ridiculous definition I have imposed on myself )
It can sound silly, but sometimes, when the weasels are biting, following a recipe still doesn't show up as cooking, even when it's delicious at the end, because the weasels have kidnapped the goalposts and moved them over to somewhere that says "only things that have been created from your own mind, with the ingredients available, and without following or referring to someone else's recipe counts as cooking." (This, as I come to the realization that I prepared and cooked all of the components of the cornbread and sausage dressing for November Feast, even if the more experienced chef checked to make sure the cornbread had cooked all the way through and helped import knowledge to me about the different uses of the pans and why assume work better than others for certain techniques. So, in a very real sense, I did cook that, end to end, even as my brain protests that I was only sous chef for it.) Even though at least one of my relatives was claimed to be able to burn water, and another once got a sardonic reply from a grandmother about whether he was still listening after saying he'd heard no complaints, it turns out that so long as I know what the techniques are and what's being asked of me to do, I can produce delicious food. Recipes preferred, at least for the first few times, because that way I know what the intended result is and from there, if need be, the tinkering aspect can take over. (Or when I'm staring at a refrigerator full of leftovers, I can clear out several of the containers by going "I'll bet these all go together great, especially with a little seasoning and saucing to accompany the reheating. And cheese." No, that's not cooking, either, weren't you paying attention? That's reheating leftovers. The cooking already happened from someone else.)
Interrogate the premise. You'll discover all sorts of fun things hiding there.
