Flashback and Sugar Rush (The Practice Job Part 8)

Years ago, I was forbidden to cook.

It was not appropriate.

Well, let me revise that a little bit. I was forbidden to cook most things. What I was allowed to prepare can be best described as 'bachelor chow'. I was allowed to barbeque, grill steaks, make hamburger helper, etc.

That sucked. I love to cook (and I am pretty good at it). When I once again found myself living on my own, I ran with it. I was at the grocery daily, always trying new things. Some things worked and some didn't.

When I was young, I took on many of the cooking duties in the house. My Mother would tell me, 'If you want it, then go ahead and make it." She would teach me anything I asked. My Grandmother would chime in and teach from time to time as well.

Anyway, I loved to bake. It wasn't just the Zen of Cooking that I got into - it was the appreciation of those who ate what I prepared. My cookies became an often requested item in my own social circles as well as the social circles of my family.

Then, years later, I was informed that my cookies sucked (Is sucked the right word? it could be 'bite' or 'blow', I can never keep those straight). Everyone I ever knew that said they liked my cookies was just being nice to me. What they really liked was the cookies that were made by someone for whom it was appropriate.

Kind of devastating to hear, really.

Back to the practice job. It was my happy place, I loved it there, yada yada yada. Anyway, a standard crew worked Saturday nights. I don't know about you but there is something kinda of punitive about working Saturday night.

So I went out on a limb and started baking again. Each Saturday night I would bring in my latest confection experiment (often the dreaded cookies). If nothing else, the hungry college students that worked at the store with me would appreciate it.

They did and I discovered that the 'everyone was just being nice about my sucky cookies' comment was a lie. Some of my culinary experiments were very sketchy prototypes (the 'Frosted Sugar Brick' concept has fleshed out quite nicely now, thank you.) Not everything was always eaten (ie.the forementioned 'Frosted Sugar Brick'). But it was always appreciated.

And even better, I was not known as that 'Transsexual'. I was the one with the cookies.

I guess my point is, we can define ourselves, and we are not limited to being pigeonholed into merely medical categories.