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There was a time in my life when I dreamed of becoming a chef - white apron, my name embroidered on it, whisking away all of life’s worries like a culinary witch. Then I watched Ratatouille and realised there was absolutely no way I’d survive the chaos of a professional kitchen. Respect to Remy and Co., but I’d die under that kind of pressure before the aromatics even hit the pan.
Still, I didn’t give up on cooking altogether.
I used to hate it when my mom would tell me to cook something. I just didn’t enjoy being told what to do. Cooking, for me, has always been sacred - my safe space. An activity where I’m in full control. Maybe that’s how I wish life worked, too, but hey, that’s a story for another time.
Interestingly, I don’t enjoy eating as much as you’d expect from someone who loves cooking. I eat because I have to, or because my stomach starts throwing a tantrum. But I cook because my brain demands it. There’s something deeply grounding about how time slows down in the kitchen - the sound of the knife hitting the chopping board, slicing through a crunchy bell pepper, the pungent scent of garlic and onion doing its dramatic thing, the unmistakable aroma of hing sizzling in hot ghee. Every sense is involved, even when I’m just making something simple. And if that’s not a therapeutic ritual, I don’t know what is.
When I’m cooking, I’m not thinking about deadlines, disappointments, or the endless to-do list haunting me. I’m just present - a rare state for me, honestly. I’ve even learned to trust my instincts. Do I follow recipes? Sort of. I stick to the general outline. But every single step? Not really. And guess what? The dish still turns out pretty great, 95% of the time.
Am I an amazing cook? Meh, average at best. But that’s the point. I’m not trying to be perfect. I’m trying to enjoy the one thing that brings me peace. If I throw perfectionism into that pot, I might as well go back to crying over spreadsheets. And if someone happens to compliment my cooking? Well, a little validation never hurt anyone.
Failed recipes have taught me patience, too. Don’t stir the onions too much. Don’t pour all the water into the dough at once. Take your time. Breathe. Enjoy the process. Don’t expect everything to work out on the first try. And honestly, isn’t that the secret to a lot of things in life? You can’t rush everything. Sometimes you have to sit back, reflect, and restart - if you don’t want to end up in the same sticky mess again.
Mistakes also lead to fun stories. Mistaking salt for sugar is pretty basic. I once added cardamom powder to white sauce pasta instead of white pepper. It was only when I tasted the sauce that I realised my goof-up. Thanks to a blocked nose, my pasta was now tasting like kheer with onion and garlic. But like they say, if you don’t make mistakes, you’re not really learning!
Culinary therapy doesn’t just begin in the kitchen. It starts in grocery aisles, looking for ingredients, or scrolling through social media and finding a recipe you just need to try. And it doesn’t end when the dish is done, either. It ends with wiping the counters, putting everything away, and collapsing on the couch with a satisfied smile and a slightly full belly.
It’s not always fun, and you’re not always in the mood. Sometimes, you imagine the carrots are the fingers of someone who’s scorned you like no other. Other times, you let the tears from onions double as cover for a full-blown emotional meltdown. My coping mechanism? Channelling my feelings into food that I can eventually digest. Yes, I eat my emotions, quite literally.
Cooking also creates connections. My mother handed down the chai recipe I now use to impress people. I still don’t drink tea unless she’s the one making it. My nani taught me how to make pulao, a family hit. Even though I put my own twists on things, there’s something about protecting those sacred recipes, like family heirlooms.
This is not to say that everyone needs to take up cooking as therapy. But if you’re looking to try something new, something that nudges you just outside your comfort zone, maybe give it a shot. There’s no better kind of growth than learning how to feed yourself without losing your mind in the process.
