Cooking Other People's Recipes

An episode of Solo Sunday Supper

Sometimes I'm in a rut. It can last a few days, sometimes weeks, and sadly, sometimes many months. I know I need to exercise; I'm not proving anything to anyone by not doing so... except most definitely to myself that I need to. I watch TV and movies until my eyes shut slowly like curtains on a string. I sleep; I sleep a lot. I drink alcohol and ingest gummies to forget I'm in a rut. I do all of this while I know full well that what I need to be doing is cooking. It can be hard to listen to the voice of reason in your head, especially when the other one is pounding and shrill. Feeling sorry for yourself is a horrible waste of time. But you know what works? Cooking other people's recipes.

I definitely have a chip on my shoulder. Maybe it's from being a child chef and having other twelve-year-olds quiz me about whether all my recipes are my own and if I'm the one cooking them. Clearly this is something I need to get over.

I think this now manifests as a near childlike embarrassment when I cook other people's recipes. But the reality is boring and simple, it's the best way to improve your own. I have to remind myself that I’m 26, having glaring imposter syndrome, and a hell of a lot to try, taste, practice, and learn. There's boundless beauty in learning and accepting what you don't know. You can't improve without doing either. Getting lost in someone else's narrative and allowing them to guide you through steps they've already taken is an easy way to get back on track. When you feel alone and like there's nothing going on around you, standing in your kitchen and letting someone orchestrate your movements, resulting in a dish now your own, is the self-prescription we all need.

I was in this pitiful state until a few hours ago. Then, I remembered that I'd saved a braised duck recipe. Rich with orange peel, star anise, cinnamon, and thyme branches, I decided that Clare de Boer was going to pull me out of my rut with her own two hands. I mindlessly went for a shop and came back in a near transient state. Ready to be told what to do and to be reminded of flavors and motions besides my own.

I have an ever-growing stash of cookbooks in my kitchen corner. They tell me stories, teach me new ways, and offer companionship. It's important that you listen to them. Good or bad, they remind you how to think for yourself and how to feed others.