It's best if Kris is not around when I am cooking. My actions in the kitchen only make her tense.
I have a tendency to use twice as many dishes to prepare a meal than she would use. I create intermediary steps where none are needed. For example, yesterday, while making the Tater Tot Hot Dish, I diced an onion. Rather than just leave it on the cutting board until it was time to transfer the onion to the frying pan, I put the onion in a bowl. This not only created an extra dirty dish, it also created a mess when I spilled onion all over the counter.
Did I mention I'm clumsy?
I'm also doubtful. Kris has called me the Doubtful Chef. I'm never certain that what I'm doing is correct, that the food I'm preparing is supposed to look like it does. When I make the frosting for Texas Sheet Cake, the butter and the cocoa have a tendency to separate. This happens every time I make it, yet I still panic every time.
Kitchen-work always takes me twice as long as it ought. If a recipe says to allot thirty minutes of preparation time, I allot an hour. Jeremy can dice an onion in seconds. It takes me minutes. On my clam chowder recipe, I've written in big bold letters: PREPARE ALL INGREDIENTS BEFORE STARTING SOUP. Why? Because if I don't prepare all of the ingredients before starting the soup, I inevitably find myself chopping celery or draining clams when I should really be pulling the potatoes off so they don't get too soft. Yet every time, I try to start the soup before the ingredients are ready.
Yesterday I forgot to buy cream of mushroom soup for the Tater Tot Hot Dish. When it came time to add the soup, I had to choose between cream of chicken soup and tomato paste. I chose tomato paste. This indicates another problem with my culinary skill: I'm forgetful. Sometimes I forget to add ingredients. Or I forget if I remembered to add ingredients. When I made the Texas Sheet Cake for Chicken Noodle Fest, it didn't turn out quite right. I have forgotten how much baking soda to add — one tablespoon or one teaspoon. I remade the brownies.
I don't think I'm a bad chef (though I'm perfectly willing to be put straight in this regard), but I don't think I'm a good one, either. Like most other cooks, there are certain meals I know how to prepare, that I enjoy preparing. I'm confident of these dishes, and have little trouble making them. (Except when I forget to prepare all the ingredients before starting the clam chowder.)
My problem is that I like to try new recipes, and the first time I make each new recipe tends to be a disaster. I tried to make the Best Gingerbread Cookies Ever a few months ago. It was my first time. They didn't turn out well. I made Tater Tot Hot Dish last night. It was my first time. It didn't turn out well. (And, really: who ruins Tater Tot Hot Dish?)
Kris and I have an ongoing argument. She refuses to hold book group at our house on a day she works. She doesn't think I could handle the challenge of preparing a meal for twelve by myself. This, well, makes me angry. (Perhaps livid would be a better word.) I maintain that of course I could prepare a meal for twelve people by myself. I would simply fix something I know well, something that I couldn't possibly ruin.
Like frozen pizza.
This entry is significant in that I wrote it from start to finish without any revision. Normally, I have to move large chunks of text from here to there. I have to edit. I have to correct spelling. Today, I tried to edit in my mind. The entry started with the bit about Kris and me fighting over my cooking skills. Rather than write that first, I simply kept it in mind and wrote toward it rather than from it. This may seem trivial to you, but it's a writing breakthrough for me.
Hmmm...I'm betting you can apply the same kind of strategy (work it out in your head and then do) to cooking along with writing.
They both do get easier over time, and it does require a degree of confidence that's only bolstered by doing it over and over again, in my experience.