When I moved to Philadelphia after graduating from law school more than five years ago, my mom, an excellent cook, gave me three cookbooks as a housewarming gift. I think her intent was to push me a bit. In typical single-guy fashion, my “cooking” at that point was limited to grilling, scrambling eggs and pouring Trader Joe’s sauces on top of a variety of meats. Anything more complicated was mysterious, intimidating and avoided.
The cookbooks lay dormant as I began my career at a large firm. Meals picked up from the cafeteria or the restaurant downstairs became daily occurrences as my workday extended into the evening. And yet, the cookbooks began calling to me. During my down time, I looked through the recipes, finding that some were daunting but others were easier than expected. I found that I was no longer content to just make food. I wanted to cook food: to buy ingredients, follow a recipe and create something (hopefully) delicious.
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