There may or may not be a time in your life when, after having viewed the kitchen as a supply room to pass through and forage for quick-fix food and drink intakes, the cooking instinct bites you.
After a few, ahem, decades of relying on the kitchen-working kindness of others and making nothing more elaborate than rudimentary foodstuffs — heating up/zapping prepared good, making mutant eggs (my shambling half-baked version, charitably dubbed “dad eggs” by my kids) — the cooking bug bit me fairly seriously about five years ago. Now, chunks of my spare time are spent perusing recipes within my grasp. I believe I have graduated from beginner to intermediate by now. Is there a test for this?
It started with appetizing photos luring me in Real Simple — an aptly named and very fine place to start — and I moved on to Epicurous.com , New York Times recipes (thank you, Melissa Clark, Sam Sifton, Mark Bittman, Nigella Lawson, and former Santa Barbaran Jeff Gordinier), assorted cookbooks (who knew there were so many out there?), and any and all sources where tasty dishes may be lurking. What tastes good tastes better when you make it yourself and get the thumbs-up from others. Never mind that following recipes is akin to paint-by-numbers kitchen action.