I started helping my grandmother in the kitchen as soon as I was old enough to stand on a stool and hold a spoon. My first responsiblity was to put the lettuce in the salad spinner, and after multiple successes with that I graduated to cheese grating. My interest in cooking took off, and its still something I get a lot of pleasure out of doing. I refused to gain the "freshman 15" my first year of college, so I learned a lot that year by making healthier meals for myself. It brought me to where I am now, starting to get over my fear of spices (I'm afraid of over-seasoning) and onions. I love making the things I grew up watching my dad make. His rich penne mac and cheese, enchiladas, lasagna, and chicken and dumplings soup are all favorites of mine to cook up. I also love to bake, particularly cookies and brownies and I'm currently exploring the world of cakes. My family has the same food for each holiday. I wait all year for the potatoes my aunt only makes on Easter, and her rum cakes on Christmas. No Thanksgiving stuffing will ever come close to my grandmother's, and I can't wait until I finally have her recipe for chicken catchatori down pat. I love holding onto the recipes that were made for me growing up and introducing them to new people in my life when I have them over for dinner or take dishes to potlucks. My triumphs thusfar have been small, but they are growing. I consider each meal that I dont ruin to be a smashing success, and I am always taking notes on everything I make about how I could improve it. Every compliment I get from people thrills me, and when a roommate proclaimed my enchiladas to be the best he had ever eaten I was over the moon (not bad for a Dutch/Irish girl with no ethnic food experience :D ) When I was only about 10 years old or so and just starting to explore baking on my own, I was trying to make sugar cookies but realized half way through that I didnt have enough sugar. I dug through the pantry until I found some confectioners' sugar, and assumed it would work fine as a substitute. The came out of the oven as white, flavorless bricks. As was tradition for me, I took the first cookie to my dad to try. He took a bite, forced a smile, and told me they were good. It wasnt until years later that I learned how terrible they really were, and we now refer to them as the "hockey puck" cookies.