An event I've had in my past that gave me insight into who I am and who I have become is when I first learned to cook, which leads to when I first cooked my first meal for my family. I was 8 years old, my parents have finally let me use the stove by myself and have begun to teach me how to use the knives. I was so excited, because I had been waiting for this day for so long. I had to control myself because I knew that I was working with dangerous tools and equipment, and I knew if I was not careful my dad would not let me cook.

When we were getting ready, my dad told me what we were going to cook and asked me, “What do you think we need for this meal tonight?” Thinking for a minute, since we were making a thick broth with cubes of meat and vegetables mixed, I said, “First we would need a pot of water for the broth and a large cutting board for the meat and vegetables.” My dad smiled and said, “Well go ahead and get them, you have to learn how to do this yourself.” I quickly found the pot, a sleek, shiny silver pot with a black plastic handle, and the large cutting board that was worn but you could still see the grains from the tree that it was cut from, and placed them onto the countertop next to the sink. This set up was very well placed because in my kitchen, the countertop is directly next to my two-bowl sink and under the countertop was a door that led to the trashcan that could slide in and out.

Behind me would be the stove island, a black electric stove that is cold one second, and in literally the next second would burn your hand. To me, this was the perfect place to cook because it was very easy to use, and very quick to access all the equipment that I would need. After I had placed the cutting board on the countertop and the silver pot on the countertop, my dad told me to get him about half of the pot of water and put it on the stove, “Set it as high as it can go, we need that water to boil well.” I do as he had told me to do, and then my mom came in. She began to teach me how to cut the vegetables with a 4 inch silver stainless-steel knife, which was easy because vegetables were easy to cut.

My dad began to get certain ingredients out to make the broth powder and spices for the meat. After I was done cutting the vegetables, my dad got out the meat from the fridge, washed it and put it on a hard plate for me. He picked up his chef’s knife, a big 9 inches of bright, shiny stainless-steel silver knife, and sharp to the very point. It was so sharp that placing the knife on the meat would cut it. He cut the meat in half, giving me one half and handing me a 5 inch stainless-steel knife and taught me how to do fillets, and cubing the meat in good sizes.
Afterwards, he put it in a big green bowl and showed me what spices to use for the broth, and how much of each to use. He put it all together, mixed it up, and began to make the seasoning that would go onto the meat. While he was getting everything ready, he had me mix together the spices and put it into the now boiling hot water. I did so, carefully, and helped my mom take the herbs out of the fridge. There were mint leaves, giving off a fresh, cooling scent of mint, cilantro, scallion stalks, and all kinds of delicious varieties of herbs.

She took about half of what she had grabbed, and gave it to me. We went over to the counter with the cutting board again, and she began showing me how to chop each one so that they become small enough to mix in well with the meat and spices. I thought to myself, “Woah, she does it so quick! I want to do it that quickly too.” It was very careless of me, but my excitement had gotten the better of me. When it was my turn, my mom walked me through about how I should use my fingers to guide the knife to cut the ingredients to exactly the right size that I wanted it to be. That was when it happened.

I was trying to cut as fast as my mom did, that I accidentally cut my finger, leaving a large, bloody gash. Blood flowed out of my finger, like water out of a bottle. Luckily, none of it had gotten on the herbs, but I was in a lot of pain. My parents were freaking out, like orangutans that lost their pile of fruits. My dad quickly got bandages and wraps, and wrapped up my finger.

I was crying a lot, because I was really scared. I thought, “Oh no, they will never let me cook anything ever again!” After they consoled me though, they assured me that it will be okay, “All the best cooks have these kinds of accidents all the time, it’s a part of learning” said my Mom. I quickly got over it, but my parents finished it off. In the end, we had a delicious full course meal. I felt so proud that I could learn to cook, even though I had an accident.

From then on, I loved cooking with a passion, and love to learn new things just the same. This memory reminds me of the excitement, but also the control I had while I was learning, as well as the patience and tolerance I needed in order to learn the process it takes to make a delicious meal, or to do anything and make any decision in my life. Today, I apply all those to myself, and my life, today and forever.