03/11/2019
Cooking is an act of love. I read that somewhere and it stuck with me.
I really don’t enjoy cooking: I find it hassle-some, but I’m pretty good at it.
Ask my husband. He once said, “It’s like living in a restaurant.” (Insert blush here. Stop making me love you so much!)
I gotta say, having young people in your life to influence, is amazing. I was a young mother and never knew how impactful an adult human was to the wee ones. I know now.
Having spent the last 2.5 years making meals, full time, I’ve had to resort to recipe ideas instead of my normal repertoire. What fun. Not. But then there’s this.
Cooking is an act of love.
As much as my two grandies drive me batty, the joy I get out of preparing meals from “all over the world,” is like nothing I have ever known. They love it, and we get to visit other parts of the world from our dinner table.
I keep telling them, “You’ll be out with your friends when your older and you’ll be different; you’ll be bold, because we’ve tried this, and you recognize the ingredients. How cool will that be?“ they straight up stop chewing, look at each other, and then back at me with delight and excitement.
I love that, which brings me back to this:
Cooking is an act of love.
I’m not wealthy enough to show them the world, but I can do it at our dinner table.
I may never love cooking, but I love where we go, because if it.
What country should I visit next?
