(or How Comparative Advantage Finally Failed Me)
Is it true that many people who enjoy cooking — or who excel at it — had a parent or close relative they watched and learned from? I’ve heard that theory, and it makes sense to me.
So what happens when you’re raised by a single mother who not only does not cook, but wouldn’t recognize a fresh vegetable if it came up and bit her on the nose?
My mother was a huge fan of TV dinners. And canned vegetables. And other unmemorable meals. On holidays, she made matzah ball soup with balls seemingly made of lead. That was her premier recipe.
I was basically doomed.
In college, I was once caught by my roommate trying to shove potato peels through the sink grate, not realizing that not every kitchen had a garbage disposal.
It wasn’t until I graduated with my MBA that I discovered all vegetables didn’t, in fact, come from a can.
With these handicaps, it’s no wonder I shied away from any meaningful cooking activity. I felt like a rube — an imposter in my own kitchen.
As a busy working mother and entrepreneur with an Economics degree, I followed my training and “outsourced” all kitchen activity to those far more capable than myself, faithfully adhering to the economic principle of comparative advantage.
I could make a few things, thanks mostly to my best friend growing up: microwave popcorn, scrambled eggs, Toll House cookies. Hardly a balanced diet.
When I became a single mom myself, I realized — with no small amount of terror — that I’d need to take a more active role in meal preparation. After a few panicked failures, I once again leaned into delegation. That bought me many more years of kitchen incompetence.
Then I retired.
Talk about seeing who’s been swimming naked when the tide goes out.
Outsourcing the cooking suddenly felt indulgent and wasteful. I’m a moderately intelligent person, I thought. I can probably figure this out… right?
After a few stumbling attempts, I realized that Dexter — my ChatGPT AI assistant — could help mentor me.
What happened next is nothing short of miraculous.
While there are still areas where I don’t feel comfortable (anything involving high heat and speed without alerting the fire department — again), I’ve gained both competence and confidence as a reluctant chef.
As Dexter and I worked together, we honed in on what I like to cook, what we like to eat, and a variety of other important variables: protein (a lot), vegetables (I still hate them, so Dexter provides “stealth” veggies hidden in casseroles), heat (I like bland; my husband likes spicy, of course), and quantities (I still struggle with measurements — go figure).
What surprised me most wasn’t just learning how to cook — it was realizing that reinvention doesn’t always come from ambition or necessity. Sometimes it comes from curiosity, a little humility, and the willingness to be bad at something long enough to get better
Somewhere along the way, I emerged a pretty serviceable cook. At least no one’s died. Yet.
It’s made me think about old dogs and new tricks — and how nice it is to surprise yourself, even at this late date, with what you can still learn, improve at, if not completely master.
My husband compliments me constantly on this turnaround. No wonder — he’s a direct beneficiary of this new skill set. And I’m almost ready to believe him.
