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When eating with others, whether at a restaurant or a good dinner party, I often hear people say “if only I cooked like this, I might cook more.” Just this past weekend at a yoga retreat I heard many of my famished fellow yogis make this claim as we stood in line waiting to fill our plates with the guest chef’s mostly delicious vegetarian selections. As I heard person after person make this statement in reference to the superbly spicy lentils, beautifully smoky roasted red pepper soup, and delectable shredded raw kale salad I couldn’t help but think, “But you can cook like this.”
There is the possibility that I am overestimating the cooking potential of the average adult but what I can I say, I’m an optimist. There was a time when I didn’t cook (albeit I was very young). Then there was a time before cooking school where I was already by most estimates a very good cook, even without formal training. I did not need cooking school to become the sort of cook who can make delicious home meals for myself, friends and family, I just needed practice.
Practice may not make perfect, but cooking rarely is--perfect that is. If cooking were a complete science, then we wouldn’t need the chefs, grandmothers, and dads who cook for the patrons of restaurants and members of families every day. Cooking cannot be fully automated as there will always be variances--the activity of yeast, temperature variance of an oven, thickness of a steak--requiring a watchful and skilled human eye. Recipes are there as guides, a roadmap of sorts to take us down the ingredients path with the rights and lefts that will get us to the destination, if with slightly different twists and turns with each attempt.
There is a total possibility that I take my own ease in the kitchen for granted when explaining to friends how I put together a certain dish. For instance, my roommate or boyfriend might ask, “how did you make that seafood stew/rapini and sausage pasta/sautéed duck breast?” Or almost as important, “How did you decide to make that (blank) for dinner tonight?”
Meal planning for me tends to look like this: I am walking along the street and something makes me think of broccoli rabe. Just like that I begin craving broccoli rabe. Thinking of chewing on those elongated broccoli-like spears with their bitter taste bordering on a somewhat pleasing aluminum naturally makes me think of the things that go with broccoli rabe. Some olive oil and sea salt to give it richness and perhaps roasting the spears to bring out sweetness as a counterpoint to the natural bitterness. I might put these spears over a creamy, garlicky white bean spread on a crostini as an appetizer. Or maybe I’ll brown some spicy sausage with olive oil and garlic, add in the broccoli rabe for a quick sauté, and mix that with some al dente orchiette, those small cupped pasta, which are perfect for scooping up bits of sweet, rich sausage and a piece broccoli rabe with each bite.
Just like that I know what I’m having for dinner and head out with a shopping list: broccoli rabe, spicy sausage, garlic, white wine, orchiette. This can happen with any number of foods. A recent craving for clams ended up as a quick seafood stew of clams, calamari, shrimp, and fresh heirloom tomatoes in a white wine broth that I sopped up with a loaf of crusty bread. A glance at some beautiful whole green cardamom pods and I’m dreaming up an aromatic spice rub with an Indian flare for grilled chicken legs maybe served with a cooling cucumber salad for balance of the spice and the cool.
It is easy to dismiss this food inspiration as innate, that one either has the talent for the proper combining of ingredients or one does not. But that assumption is wrong. We eat to live and when we eat, flavors create pleasure or they do not. One person’s taste might differ from the next person but if you become attuned to those flavors that please your mouth, the combination of textures, the balance of sweet, spice, salt, bitter, and sour, and the visual appeal of a range of colors, a composed dish begins to make sense.
Cooking like a pro might not come immediately, but in the meantime, you will continue to taste. You taste as you go through life eating the food prepared by others, and you taste as you cook your own food, adding a little salt at a time to brighten dull flavors, finding just the right number of cracks of the pepper mill, or discovering that a drizzle of good extra virgin olive oil on a finished dish brings the ingredients together.
When people tell me that if they had my natural talent in the kitchen, they too might cook. I like to remind them they do, and they can. I was not born this way. I have just been down this road many times. I watch for the signs, I’ve learned the shortcuts, and each time I cook I might make a wrong turn now and then but I find my way back to the road and I reach the destination, making the journey as much as the destination, a little better each time.
©2026 CDKitchen, Inc. No reproduction or distribution of any portion of this article is allowed without express permission from CDKitchen, Inc.
To share this article with others, you may link to this page:
https://www.cdkitchen.com/cooking-experts/amy-powell/1086-cooking-requires-practice/
Roadmap to Dinner
When eating with others, whether at a restaurant or a good dinner party, I often hear people say “if only I cooked like this, I might cook more.” Just this past weekend at a yoga retreat I heard many of my famished fellow yogis make this claim as we stood in line waiting to fill our plates with the guest chef’s mostly delicious vegetarian selections. As I heard person after person make this statement in reference to the superbly spicy lentils, beautifully smoky roasted red pepper soup, and delectable shredded raw kale salad I couldn’t help but think, “But you can cook like this.”
There is the possibility that I am overestimating the cooking potential of the average adult but what I can I say, I’m an optimist. There was a time when I didn’t cook (albeit I was very young). Then there was a time before cooking school where I was already by most estimates a very good cook, even without formal training. I did not need cooking school to become the sort of cook who can make delicious home meals for myself, friends and family, I just needed practice.
Practice may not make perfect, but cooking rarely is--perfect that is. If cooking were a complete science, then we wouldn’t need the chefs, grandmothers, and dads who cook for the patrons of restaurants and members of families every day. Cooking cannot be fully automated as there will always be variances--the activity of yeast, temperature variance of an oven, thickness of a steak--requiring a watchful and skilled human eye. Recipes are there as guides, a roadmap of sorts to take us down the ingredients path with the rights and lefts that will get us to the destination, if with slightly different twists and turns with each attempt.
There is a total possibility that I take my own ease in the kitchen for granted when explaining to friends how I put together a certain dish. For instance, my roommate or boyfriend might ask, “how did you make that seafood stew/rapini and sausage pasta/sautéed duck breast?” Or almost as important, “How did you decide to make that (blank) for dinner tonight?”
Meal planning for me tends to look like this: I am walking along the street and something makes me think of broccoli rabe. Just like that I begin craving broccoli rabe. Thinking of chewing on those elongated broccoli-like spears with their bitter taste bordering on a somewhat pleasing aluminum naturally makes me think of the things that go with broccoli rabe. Some olive oil and sea salt to give it richness and perhaps roasting the spears to bring out sweetness as a counterpoint to the natural bitterness. I might put these spears over a creamy, garlicky white bean spread on a crostini as an appetizer. Or maybe I’ll brown some spicy sausage with olive oil and garlic, add in the broccoli rabe for a quick sauté, and mix that with some al dente orchiette, those small cupped pasta, which are perfect for scooping up bits of sweet, rich sausage and a piece broccoli rabe with each bite.
Just like that I know what I’m having for dinner and head out with a shopping list: broccoli rabe, spicy sausage, garlic, white wine, orchiette. This can happen with any number of foods. A recent craving for clams ended up as a quick seafood stew of clams, calamari, shrimp, and fresh heirloom tomatoes in a white wine broth that I sopped up with a loaf of crusty bread. A glance at some beautiful whole green cardamom pods and I’m dreaming up an aromatic spice rub with an Indian flare for grilled chicken legs maybe served with a cooling cucumber salad for balance of the spice and the cool.
It is easy to dismiss this food inspiration as innate, that one either has the talent for the proper combining of ingredients or one does not. But that assumption is wrong. We eat to live and when we eat, flavors create pleasure or they do not. One person’s taste might differ from the next person but if you become attuned to those flavors that please your mouth, the combination of textures, the balance of sweet, spice, salt, bitter, and sour, and the visual appeal of a range of colors, a composed dish begins to make sense.
Cooking like a pro might not come immediately, but in the meantime, you will continue to taste. You taste as you go through life eating the food prepared by others, and you taste as you cook your own food, adding a little salt at a time to brighten dull flavors, finding just the right number of cracks of the pepper mill, or discovering that a drizzle of good extra virgin olive oil on a finished dish brings the ingredients together.
When people tell me that if they had my natural talent in the kitchen, they too might cook. I like to remind them they do, and they can. I was not born this way. I have just been down this road many times. I watch for the signs, I’ve learned the shortcuts, and each time I cook I might make a wrong turn now and then but I find my way back to the road and I reach the destination, making the journey as much as the destination, a little better each time.
Orchiette with Spicy Sausage and Broccoli Rabe
Made with black pepper, white wine, orchiette pasta, salt, olive oil, Italian sausage, garlic, fresh sage, red chili flakes, broccoli rabe
Made with black pepper, white wine, orchiette pasta, salt, olive oil, Italian sausage, garlic, fresh sage, red chili flakes, broccoli rabe
Serves/Makes: 4
- 1 pound orchiette pasta
- salt
- 3 tablespoons olive oil
- 6 links spicy Italian sausage
- 3 cloves garlic
- 6 fresh sage leaves
- 1/4 teaspoon red chili flakes
- 1 bunch broccoli rabe
- 1 1/2 cup white wine
- black pepper
- Parmesan cheese
Bring a pot of water to a boil and salt it so it takes like the sea. Add the orchiette and cook until about two minutes shy of doneness. Drain the pasta and reserve 1/2 cup of the cooking water.
Meanwhile heat the olive oil over a medium flame in a large saute pan. Remove the casings from the sausage and add to the hot oil. Brown the sausage for about 4 minutes breaking up the meat into bite sized pieces.
Thinly slice the garlic cloves, mince the sage, and cut the broccoli rabe into 1 inch pieces. Add the garlic to the sausage and cook for about two minutes until softened but not browned. Add the broccoli rabe, sage, chili flakes, a bit of salt and some black pepper. Saute for a couple of minutes to soften the broccoli rabe. Add the white wine and increase the heat. Reduce the wine by half. Add the reserved pasta cooking water and the drained pasta. Turn the heat down to medium and cook for a couple of minutes until the sauce thickens a bit.
Taste and adjust seasoning if necessary with additional salt and pepper. Plate pasta and top with Parmesan cheese if desired.
Cook's Notes: You can also substitute regular broccoli, just remove the florets from the stem and break up into small bite sized pieces. Peel the broccoli stem and cut into a small dice about 1/2-inch by 1/2-inch. Adjust cooking time as needed.
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©2026 CDKitchen, Inc. No reproduction or distribution of any portion of this article is allowed without express permission from CDKitchen, Inc.
To share this article with others, you may link to this page:
https://www.cdkitchen.com/cooking-experts/amy-powell/1086-cooking-requires-practice/