Patience, Trust, and Tzatziki
I’ve never been fully confident in my abilities, much less when it comes to cooking or anything that takes a lot of patience. That’s why I was very anxious about participating in the cooking class on day three of the trip in Athens, Greece. Whenever I am super anxious, patience feels like closing my eyes, jumping in a pool, and bracing myself for the impact. However, instead of letting my reservations send me into a downward spiral, keeping me from trying something new, I went into the local tavern with an open mind and hopeful heart. Even though my own mom has given up on teaching me how to cook, maybe our instructor named George could prove her and my own doubts wrong.
I was delighted to hear we’d be working together in teams, competing against each other by making the crispiest cheese pies, creamiest tzatziki, and tastiest salads. I think the beauty of this priceless experience was the fact that I didn’t have to face my anxieties and inner doubts about cooking alone. I quickly realized that I definitely wasn’t the only one in my group who didn’t have a knack for cooking. Each of us had never even tried the foods we were asked to make before, which made replicating them even more daunting and difficult. Instead of focusing on where we all lacked or fell short, we listened to our instructor and practiced patience with each fold, sprinkle, and stir. Throughout each of the three rounds of competition, our instructor taught us the ins and outs of Greek cooking and cuisine, including staple ingredients and foods such as feta cheese, dakos, and of course, olive oil. He also emphasized the high level of passion, attention, and care that Greeks put into their cooking. Learning the background, meaning, and sentiment that goes into creating these delicious foods brought me a step closer to immersing myself in the Greek way of life in a manner that I wouldn’t have if I had never got the opportunity. Although it was very nerve wracking having our cooking judged by a Greek native, George made sure we were well educated, safe, and equipped with all of the tools we needed to succeed.
Although my team did not win the competition that day, I learned that patience also takes trust. Trust that you will know what to do when the time comes. Trust that you will have all the support you need, when you need it most. And most importantly, trust that you are more than capable or doing anything you put your mind to. When I trust myself, patience feels like opening my eyes just before jumping into a pool and realizing that the way down isn’t as long or deafening as I thought it was. This cooking class taught me that it’s more about trusting the process than anticipating failure, which will always bring anxiety and doubt.
