Ever since I was little, my dad has been an amazing chef, and I have always had a passion for making food, testing out what flavors I could add, what foods people like, and even figuring out my family’s preferences on food cultures. My dad is a very kind soul who makes friends with everybody he meets; He knows everybody at the store we go to, the restaurant we visit, and even the guy who cuts my hair. He has a dark, scruffy beard and a body that just screams “dad bod”. I carry with me a very strong passion for cooking, because every time I'm in the kitchen, I can feel the heat of the grill and oven, but also the cold air of the freezers and fridges. I see the giant metal racks lining the walls with assortments of different utensils, silverware, and plates. I can hear the Alexa blasting my favorite rock songs and occasionally an automated voice that says “kitchen, front door” every time someone walks in. I see the massive window on the front wall of the building with a big decal on it. I get a rush of adrenaline whenever one of my coworkers asks me to do something because I know that they’re counting on me to complete this task. I love the familiar feel of the sticky latex gloves on my hands and the coarse handle of the knife. I even remember the sharp burn of the oven door on my arm when rushed by carelessly, but even the bad parts are great when you get to make delicious food with people you love and respect. 

At home, when I'm not working in the kitchen, I get to relax and cook for myself. My favorite thing to make for myself is a hot, steamy omelet with my own special skillet that molds the egg into a nice circular shape. I can always imagine the scent of the cooking oil, the hissing sound when the eggs hit the hot pan, and the feel of the hot steam radiating off the runny eggs. As I flip the half-cooked omelet into the air, it flips so gracefully as if it were an Olympic gymnast showing off their moves, and as the omelet falls I hear that beautiful sizzle from the rest of the eggs starting to cook. Once finished, I fold the omelet onto itself for the classic look and place it gently onto a plate, soon to be devoured. I wait for it to cool, but only slightly, before I cut into it with my fork like a hot knife through butter, the steam escapes rapidly like it had been imprisoned for years, and the sweet smell of melted cheese and seared eggs rushes towards my nose, making my mouth water like Niagara Falls. I take a bite of the omelet as if I had never been fed before, and as the salty, savory, cheesy flavors envelop my tastebuds, I grow more thankful for my abilities in the kitchen.

This passion is important to me because my dad is counting on me to keep cooking for people long after he leaves the kitchen. None of my brothers love cooking nearly as much as I do, which is why it’s all the more important that I learn everything that I can about cooking like techniques, measurements, dishes, and cultures. Cooking has made a big impact on my life because whenever I was hungry or whenever my dad made dinner, he showed me how to make every dish I ate, which lit up my love for cooking and it hasn’t gone away since.