Midnight Writer

To some, cooking is just a chore — a necessary task to stay alive. Some avoid it entirely, living off takeout and microwave meals. But not me. I love to cook. Not the cleanup, sure — but the act of creating something from scratch, of mixing flavors and watching it all come together? That gives me a thrill no drug ever could. There’s something exhilarating about turning a pile of random ingredients into something genuinely delicious.

Why do I love to cook? Easy. It taps into both my creative and sentimental side. I was partially raised by my grandparents, and I spent countless days and nights helping my grandmother in the kitchen. Watching her cook was mesmerizing. She wasn’t like any chef you’d see on TV or YouTube. She never measured anything. I mean anything. It was second nature to her. She just knew how much flour went into her flaky, homemade biscuits or exactly how much salt her creamy mashed potatoes needed.

Her style of cooking was intuitive, almost magical and I know I’m not alone in that. A lot of us remember our grandmothers cooking this way: no recipes, just love and experience passed down through taste and instinct.

When I’m in the kitchen now, I catch myself doing the same things she used to do, tossing ingredients into a dish without thinking twice. And every time I do it, I think of her. It feels like she’s still there with me.

Since she passed, I’ve longed to be by her side again, rushing to pull together Sunday dinner, laughing, moving in rhythm. I never realized just how much I’d miss her until she was gone.

I won’t pretend our relationship was perfect. It wasn’t. I could be a jerk sometimes, and there are things I’ve said and done that I wish I could take back. Living with older grandparents wasn’t always easy. Their rules and way of life were stricter and so different from the households my friends grew up in. They wanted me home before dark. They expected my bed to be made every morning. I pushed back. We argued. Sometimes the fights got ugly.

But those arguments never lasted long at least not when it came time to cook. Whatever had been said faded into the background when we stepped into the kitchen. That space always brought us back together. Somehow, the act of preparing a meal softened everything.

That’s still true today. The past year has been a mess. I left a career, bounced between jobs, and struggled to find something that sticks. Financial stress piled up, and my whole life felt like it was turned upside down. But all of that fades the moment I start cooking.

As I stir a roux for a sauce, the day’s stress slips to the back burner. Suddenly, I’m back in the kitchen with Grandma, focused and calm, ready to create something delicious. Cooking brings out a hidden side of me, one full of control, drive, and purpose that I don’t often show.

There’s something incredibly rewarding about making an amazing dish. Especially when you have people to share it with. And let me be honest: I’m super judgmental about the food I serve. I want every bite to be the best thing someone’s eaten, or at least leave a lasting impression on their taste buds.

But when I hear that first “hmmm” as they take a bite? It’s one of the highest feelings I know. That moment of approval can turn even the worst day into a great one.

Cooking has become more than just a hobby or a way to feed myself — it’s my therapy, my creative outlet, and my way of connecting with the people I care about. No matter how chaotic life gets, the kitchen is my sanctuary. And maybe, just maybe, it could be yours too.

So here’s my question to you: What’s one activity that helps you find calm or joy when life feels overwhelming? It doesn’t have to be cooking/ It could be anything that sparks your passion or quiets your mind. Share it in the comments or take a moment today to lean into that something. Because sometimes, the smallest escape can become the biggest source of strength.

–Midnight Writer

“To cook is to express oneself and heal at the same time.”
— Unknown