Growing up in Brooklyn, I avoided anything in the kitchen, but eating and answering our house phone that was mounted on the wall with the extra long cord (remember those?) I wasn't encouraged to cook. In fact, my snacks after school consisted of a grilled cheese sandwich and a can of canned vegetable soup washed down with a cup of chocolate milk. Sometimes it was an everything bagel from a shop in Canarsie with butter or scallion cream cheese. To this day, I have yet to have a bagel that comes close to tasting anything like them.
When I left home and got married, I was not 'forced' to cook either. My ex's one redeeming quality was that he was the one that cooked most of the time, while I went out to work to financially support our family. I learned to appreciate what really good food truly is. His Puerto Rican and Cuban dishes "woke" my taste buds up. Was it the cilantro? The Adobo?
Little by little, I would go into the kitchen and start to dabble in making dinner. I found following recipes a bit mundane and would create meals based on them. I liked getting and creative. I was praised. Often.
Fast forward to a few years later and after my divorce, I got into a relationship with man who cooked for a living. While he had no formal training, his culinary skills were learned on the job. I used to joke he could probably make an old, dirty sneaker taste good. He motivated me to cook a lot more and the fact he enjoyed eating my meals was encouraging, but that's where he stopped short. I thought about entering culinary school because I loved it so much and wanted to learn how to do things in the kitchen the right way. He didn't believe I had it me as "the work was hard and demanding."
Ironically, I would later become an advocate for people with disabilities.
Jobs I loved and did well at, but talk about hard work and demanding...fighting for services and people's rights and access to programs and resources isn't exactly easy or undemanding. The hard part is when you're dealing with other people's emotions that can be turned upside down and back again. Especially when asking the system to provide them what they are entitled to and denied. Repeatedly.
All the while, I still thought about cooking school.
In 2010, I left that relationship and moved across the Hudson River and settled with my son in New Jersey. I thought what's next for me. Us. Before I went back to college to pursue my bachelor's degree, I learned about a completely free culinary program offered by the Community FoodBank of New Jersey.
http://www.cfbnj.org/hope/job-training-programs/fsta/ It seemed perfect, but so did my aspirations of finishing college to one day become a social worker and continuing advocacy on behalf of the voiceless and under served populations. For awhile I did just that, but then last year it hit me as I was about to turn 40. I wanted something else, something different.
Seeking change in my life, a reinvention of sorts. I kept hearing the call to embark on a career that would allow me to be more creative and have fun while doing it. I looked into the program again and attended the orientation, but the timing wasn't right. I needed an income first and foremost, and I was nearing the completion of my bachelor's. Then a few months later, I fell back into a depression (my funk) I couldn't shake. With the help of regular therapy, an awesome therapist, and some supportive people in my life, I decided to live while I was alive. Meaning: I was going to do things that I have never done before and always wanted to.
For the most part, these last few months have been filled with happy and memorable experiences I wouldn't trade for anything. Some that included forming friendships with people from different cultures than my own which introduced me to even more cuisine and flavors I savored and devoured. And tomorrow, I embark on my first day as a chef in training.
