Lessons Learned in the World’s Tiniest Kitchen (Lesson 1)

I’m the primary cook in our house. Part of that choice is because I’m the one at home. Part of it is because, for the most part, I like doing it.

I’m not a great cook, but as time has gone on, I’ve gotten more comfortable in the kitchen. But it didn’t start out that way. I learned to cook in my first apartment, in the world’s tiniest kitchen.

Kitchens of the Past

Growing up, I seldom participated in making meals. I do remember asking mom if she needed help, but usually, she’d say no. So, I took her at her word and remained firmly planted in front of the tv or book or homework or whatever else was occupying my attention at the time.

College dorm life didn’t offer much of an opportunity for culinary experimentation. Poorly lit basement kitchens, or communal prep spaces where burning food permeated rooms, left me too afraid to engage in much trial and error. Plus, the dining hall had better food (that we’d already paid for) and friends – no need to sequester myself alone in my room.

My first shared apartment in my mid-20s brought with it frequent calls to mom about where a particular item was found in the maze of grocery store aisles. Low paying jobs often meant frozen foods and cheap pasta. Busy summer-camp-life-jobs equated to infrequent meals, fast food, and snacks pilfered from the snack closet at work.

The World’s Tiniest Kitchen

It wasn’t until I got my own place, and a boyfriend who came to my house for dinner, that I began learning to cook. My “historic” (read: old) apartment had the world’s tiniest kitchen (read: the fridge was in the dining room).

The built-in pantry was deep enough for a can of soup. With only six cabinets in the kitchen, the built-in’s in the dining room held most of my dishes. I could barely lie down on the kitchen floor without my head sticking out the back door.

In this kitchen, I learned to knead bread, stuff peppers, and cut butter into dough. I retreated to the warmth of the oven in winter and sat in the breezy doorframe of the back porch in summer. With its white counters and few cabinets (also white), it was the brightest room in the house.

Despite this overall apartment experience not being the best, I came to love my tiny kitchen.

It was here I drank tea, and really looked at my own reflection in the mirror. This was the first time in my life that I was truly alone, without a roommate. There was no one to tell me what to do, where to go, or who I was. For the first time in my life, I started to discover those things on my own.

Mistakes Happen – Scrap Them Off and Try Again

Even after more than ten years have passed since I called mom for grocery store directions, I’m still learning about myself and my cooking style. For example, I’ll choose a recipe over freestyling it almost any day. But now, I measure spices in my hand more often than I use a measuring spoon. And I find great pleasure in perusing the store to choose the produce, meat, and bread for a meal.

(A little quirk of mine – I love going into grocery stores when we travel, especially internationally. There’s nothing quite like wandering the aisles and imagining the food you could make with foreign ingredients.)

But I didn’t start out comfortable in the kitchen. The only way I learned to cook was by rolling up my sleeves and making mistakes. I spent many nights scraping burnt food out of a pan, or throwing in the towel altogether and resorting to popcorn. And although it wasn’t in the tiny kitchen, my husband and I often joke about my failed corn chowder attempt.

I was terrified of mistakes when I first began cooking. And forget the suggested time it would take to make something. I needed to add at least 30 more minutes to that. But with time and practice, we learn. We find our rhythm. This is true of almost anything.

Stop Comparing and Start Doing

Julia Child once said, “No one is born a great cook; one learns by doing.” She’s so right. I’ve moved and cooked in many kitchens since that first tight and tiny space. But the changes I underwent during that year have stayed with me.

It’s easy to compare our beginning to someone’s middle, forgetting they were once beginners too. Ten years ago me could never imagine measuring spices out by hand, or substituting one ingredient for another. These days, when we’re spending more time than ever online, we find ourselves consuming and comparing all too easily.

But I won’t let comparison or fear stop me from moving forward, no matter how slowly. So long as I’m moving forward. Progress is progress, no matter how small. Even if it comes in the form of a borrowed recipe, followed to the letter.

Anyone Can Cook: Guacamole for All!

One recipe I learned early on still serves me well. My co-worker at the time often brought guacamole into the office for lunch, and she taught me all she knew. Guacamole is one of our go-to summer recipes, and we often bring it to cookouts and gatherings. Lots of practice means I’m pretty good at picking avocados, if I do say so myself. I don’t need a recipe anymore. Time and experience mean I can trust myself to know what’s going to work (and what might not). But in case you’d like one, here’s a recipe card for that tried-and-true guacamole.