Cooking from the Heart

Nathan eyed the spoon of red sauce in his hand warily, blowing on it gently to cool it enough to eat. His niece, Avery, watched him anxiously as he did so, leaning against the kitchen counter next to him. The sauce should be fine. He’d watched Avery make it himself, and aside from being a little scorched, it was prepared correctly. Then again, that’s what he’d thought about her last three attempts this week.

Once the sauce stopped steaming, Nathan brought it to his mouth to taste. Before he’d even pulled the spoon from his mouth, he felt his lips involuntarily tensing into a grimace. Next to him, Avery groaned.

“It sucks again? Oh my god, what gives?” she complained. “I followed all your stupid instructions. I mean, mostly. Did I burn it that badly?”

Nathan swallowed, then sighed. “No, it’s not burned. Well, it’s a little scorched. But aside from that, it tastes really sour. Maybe the tomato sauce we used was off.”

“Yeah,” Avery said flatly, “And maybe it was tomato sauce the other bajillion times, too? Come on, Uncle Nathan. I just suck at cooking. Not even your fancy head chef skills can fix me.”

“Don’t say that,” Nathan scolded gently. “You don’t suck.”

Avery rolled her eyes. “Oh, really? Then explain how I’ve now failed four times to make freaking spaghetti.”

Well, she had him there. Nathan wasn’t convinced that it was her fault, though. She’d followed his instructions well, if unenthusiastically. There had to be something else at play. Was it the pan they were using? The utensils? No, that didn’t make any sense. Nathan cooked with this equipment all the time, and while it was starting to get a little worn, he hadn’t noticed any odd aftertaste in his own food, let alone… whatever was going on with Avery’s spaghetti sauce.

He took another spoonful of sauce from the pan to taste. He didn’t spend years of training his pallet as a professional Nathan to give up on his niece. If he could just puzzle out what exactly he was tasting, he could figure out how to fix it.

Nathan closed his eyes as he rolled another mouthful of sauce on his tongue, trying to focus. The first thing he tasted was a strange sourness, like yogurt that had started to go rancid. The texture of the sauce was strange, too. It melted in his mouth in a bad way, water leeching out of it and left a grainy mess behind. As he moved the mixture to the back of his mouth to swallow, the sauce almost seemed to resist, bracing itself against his throat with a cloying bitterness. What in the world…?

He searched his mind for anything he’d tasted like it, focusing on the unpleasant notes. Sour, watery, bitter, and something else. Something strange that sat heavily on the tip of his tongue, like… like…

“This is such a waste of time. She just wants me to be more like her.”

Nathan swallowed and opened his eyes, looking at Avery quizzically. “Who wants you to be more like her?”

“What?” Avery asked, raising one eyebrow slightly. “What are you talking about?”

“What you just said, about someone…” Nathan trailed off as Avery started to frown again, obviously confused.

The pair stared at one another awkwardly for a moment. Avery then huffed and rolled her eyes. “Wow,” she teased him, “My cooking’s so bad it’s making you hallucinate.”

“Yeah, yeah. Like you don’t have your own overactive imagination,” Nathan replied, shaking his head. What had that been? He was sure Avery said something. Waste of time?

It was true that Avery hadn’t been a fan of the idea of cooking lessons. Her mother had insisted on them, since Avery would be getting ready to leave for college Avery. She needed to be able to feed herself once she was out on her own. She’d always resisted her mother’s attempts to teach her, though, which is why Nathan’s sister reached out to him to do the lessons instead. She hadn’t really given Avery much of a choice in the matter, so it made sense that Avery would feel bitter.

Bitter. Hm.

Nathan set down his spoon, frowning at the sauce. He must be going crazy.

“Let’s take a break, then try one more time,” he suggested. Avery groaned again next to him, but Nathan pressed on before they could launch into another complaint. “I know these lessons have been frustration for you, but you’re trying, and that counts for something.”

“Not for anything edible,” Avery grumbled, slouching further against the counter. “But fine, whatever. A break, then one more shot. If it turns out disgusting again, though, I’m calling it. I’m cursed.”

“You’re not cursed,” Nathan said. Was he this dramatic as a teenager? He didn’t think so, but that had also been a long time ago. Maybe he was. He did vaguely remember nearly giving up on the culinary field entirely when he didn’t make it into his first choice for culinary school. His father certainly hadn’t helped by holding it over his head as yet another reason that becoming a Nathan was a ‘stupid’ career choice. That was one bridge that took a long time to mend. Maybe something similar was happening between Avery and her mom?

He really had to be crazy. Was he really suggesting to himself that Avery was so upset with her mother he could taste it in her cooking?

Apparently so, because as Nathan picked up the sauce pan and carried it to the trash can at the end of the counter to scrape out the contents, he found himself trying to come up with a way to broach the subject. “So, Avery," he settled on asking, "How’s your mother?” He did his best to sound casual. Based on the incredulous look Avery gave him, he probably failed.

“Uh, good, I guess?” Avery said. “Don’t you two talk?”

Nathan winced, tapping the pan against the side of the can a few times. “We do, I just… I guess what I meant was more- how are things with your mother? Like, between the two of you?” He stepped away from the trash can and walked over to the kitchen island to begin washing the pan, turning his back to Avery as he turned on his sink.

Avery was quiet for a moment, taking the time to think about her answer. “Things are fine, or whatever,” she settled on. “The same as they’ve always been. Why?”

“Well, she mentioned that you’ve been fighting her on learning to cook for a while,” Nathan told her, which wasn’t technically a lie. His sister did say that, although that wasn’t why he was asking. “I guess I’m just trying to figure out why. You’re not a lazy kid, and you need to learn to cook to take care of yourself.”

Behind him, Avery scoffed. “Yeah, yeah, I know that. It’s just- Mom doesn’t just want me to learn so I know how to do it. She wants me to fall in love with it like she did so I can cook fancy dinners for my future husband when I ‘grow up’ and realize I want to be a housewife or something.”

Nathan nodded patiently as he scrubbed at some of the scorched sauce that insisted on sticking to the pan. “So she still doesn’t understand what it means for you to be antiromatic, then?”

“Aromantic,” Avery corrected.

Whoops. “Aromantic, sorry,” Nathan echoed with a nod.

“It’s fine. But yeah,” Avery continued. “She still thinks I just need to find the ‘right guy’ and that will magically fix me.”

Nathan turned away from the pan he was washing to look at Avery, turning off the water as he did. “You don’t need to be fixed,” he said sympathetically. “And I’m sorry your mother still doesn’t understand. Do you want me to try and talk with her about it?”

Avery shook her head, handing Nathan the towel hanging from the oven handle to dry his hands. “No, it’s fine. I mean, it’s not fine, but- but it’s fine,” she said.

“You don’t want to stir the pot, I get that,” Nathan agreed. “I’ll leave it be, then. But- I’m not trying to be insensitive, I just want to understand. What does this have to do with learning to cook? I don’t think I’m clear on that part.”

“It’s just- cooking isn’t something I’m learning for me,” Avery explained. “It’s something I’m learning to make her happy, so she can picture me as her perfect, traditional little princess instead of actually acknowledging me for who I am.”

Nathan considered that for a moment, trying to see things from Avery’s point of view. “Well… would learning to cook make you less of who you are?”

“Yes,” Avery said, then paused. “Or- no, not really, but- maybe? I don’t know. It feels like it should. Like I’m giving in to her, somehow.”

For a long moment, neither of them said anything, letting Avery’s predicament hang in the air between them. It did seem like a lose-lose situation. If Avery didn’t learn to cook, she’d be stuck eating instant meals and junk food through college, which got expensive quick. If she did learn to cook, though, she felt like she’d be letting her mother steer her toward becoming someone she didn't want to be.

Finally, Nathan collected his thoughts. “I do hear you,” he said. “I hear you. But… cooking doesn’t have to be about your mom.” He paused, then, giving Avery a chance to respond. When she didn’t immediately start to argue with him, he took it as a sign to continue. "Sometimes, whether you’re doing something for someone else or for yourself just depends on how you look at it. It’s a grey area, like… like gravy.”

“Doing something for yourself is like gravy?” Avery asked skeptically.

“Exactly,” Nathan said, “It’s like gravy. The basic elements of a gravy are meat fat and a thickening agent, like cornstarch. Some gravies have extra ingredients, like vegetable stock and spices. But we left the beef fat in our spaghetti sauce, didn’t we? So why isn’t it a gravy?”

Avery frowned a bit, not quite following. “Because- I mean, because it’s spaghetti sauce. It’s just not a gravy.”

“In some places, they would say it is,” Nathan replied. “In other places, it’s not. It technically qualifies, so if you want to call it a gravy, you can.”

“Okay,” Avery said, “So what does this have to do with learning to cook?”

“You learning to cook is like…. Like the difference between sauce and gravy,” Nathan said. “Technically, yes, being able to cook is something your mother wants you to do. But really, it’s something you need to learn for yourself. You can decide you’re going to learn to cook for you, as yourself, for you to use that skill as you please. Not related to what your mom wants.”

Avery nodded slowly. “So… I’m spaghetti sauce, and my mom is gravy?” she asked.

“Uh,” Nathan answered uncertainly, “Yes?”

Avery paused… then burst into laughter, arms coming up to wrap around their stomach as they bent over from the force of it. “Uncle Nathan, I appreciate you trying to make me feel better about cooking, but you’ve totally lost me.”

“Yeah,” Nathan agreed with a chuckle of his own, “I think I’ve lost me, too. How about this- let’s not think of this as cooking lessons your mom volunteered you for. Let’s think of this as us just hanging out and sharing something I love to do that will help you when you go off to college. What your mom wants doesn’t matter. It’ll be our time to hang out, your skill to learn, and your life to do with as you please.”

Avery’s laughter faded into an amused grin. “Okay, sure,” they agreed. “We’re cooking because I want to hang out, and you want to share it with me. Forget whatever Mom thinks it is.”

Nathan nodded, then turned back to the sink. “We’re in agreement, then,” he said as he turned on the faucet. “Let me wash this pan, and then we’ll give the sauce one more try.”

“Are we going to have enough tomato paste left for another try?” Avery asked, opening Nathan’s cabinet to start gathering ingredients she’d practically memorized.

“We should have just enough,” Nathan said. “We’ll add less water to make up for it. It’ll be a thicker sauce than the last one, but part of cooking is improvising.”

As they began their fifth attempt, Nathan found himself and Avery falling into a much easier rhythm. She had good knife skills thanks to all the onions they’d cut this week, and she even volunteered her opinion on how much of each spice she wanted to use. She still scorched her sauce a bit after the tomato mixture went in the pan, but she was able to laugh about it, instead of kicking herself.

The sauce simmered on the stove, thickening well despite having a little less paste than the last batch. Nathan got a clean spoon from his utensil drawer, dipping it into the pan to taste. Avery watched him anxiously, waiting for his assessment.

The tomato tasted fresh, vibrantly sweet and slightly acidic, though Nathan was certain all their tomato had been some variation of canned. It mixed well with the richness of the beef, followed up quickly by a slightly strong punch of red pepper and oregano. All of it was brought together by something inexplicable, a lightness right on the tip of Nathan’s tongue.

“This is actually kinda fun.”

Nathan smiled, then nodded to the utensil drawer. “Grab a spoon, try it,” he encouraged Avery. “It’s good.”

“Oh my gosh, really?” Avery rushed to grab a tasting spoon for themselves, scooping up some sauce from the pan and nearly burning their tongue in their haste to try it. “Hah, that’s hot,” she said, fanning her mouth before hurrying to swallow. “But it’s good. It’s actually good.”

“Good job, kid,” Nathan chuckled, stepping back from the stove to set his spoon in the sink. “I told you you don’t suck.”

“I don’t suck at cooking, at least,” Avery said, joining him to rinse her tasting spoon off. Nathan opened his mouth to insist she didn’t suck at all, but Avery interrupted him before he could. “By the way,” she asked, “When do we start making the noodles?”

Nathan paused. Oh. Right. Noodles.

When Nathan’s pause lasted a bit too long, Avery snorted, giggling at him. “You forgot about the noodles, didn’t you?”

“I did,” Nathan sighed. “Alright, one more lesson for the day- how to bring a pot of water to a boil quickly.”

Avery laughed harder at that, but Nathan figured some laughter at his expense was worth it. Cooking is an expressive craft, after all, and joy is an essential ingredient.