Even Chefs Forget the Basics
There are things I know—really know. Things I learned in culinary school, drilled into my head, used in restaurants, even taught to other people. But somehow, I still have to relearn them.
Sweating Onions the Wrong Way
Take sweating onions. Not sautéing—sweating. Low and slow. No color. Just coaxing the flavor out. Every time I see it in a recipe, I nod like, “Of course, obviously.”
And then what do I do? I turn the burner up too high. Every. Time.
A Vinaigrette Gone Wrong
It’s not just onions.
I’ll be making a vinaigrette—an emulsion of oil and acid, one of the first things I was taught in culinary school. The whole point is to add the oil slowly, whisking as you go — just like Serious Eats explains here — so it suspends evenly and gives you that silky, balanced finish.
But no. Suddenly I’m Gordon Ramsay with forearms from the gym and too much confidence. I dump in all the oil at once like I’m about to bend the laws of physics through sheer charisma and bicep strength.
And guess what? The vinaigrette splits.
Then I’m scrambling—adding an egg yolk to salvage it with lecithin, or maybe a spoonful of Dijon to fake some stability. And in the back of my mind I’m thinking, You knew better. But you didn’t do better.
When Baking Bites Back
Same thing happens with baking.
I know pastry isn’t like savory cooking. I know baking is basically math you can eat. And yet, when I’m making a batch of coconut cakes, what do I do? I eyeball the baking soda. Because I’m feeling bold. Or lazy. Or both.
That’s how you end up watching a mound of baking soda tumble into the mixing bowl like it’s falling in slow motion, and you can’t do anything about it but whisper, “Nooooo…”
At that point, it’s over. This isn’t tossing in an extra garlic clove. It’s not recoverable. There’s no rescue mission for bitter, blown-out cakes.
Lessons Worth Relearning
The irony? These aren’t complicated lessons. This isn’t truffle foam or some obscure sous vide timing. It’s the basics. I know them. I’ve taught them. And I still break them.
Why?
Because once you know food, really know it—when you’ve cooked for years, when you trust your instincts—it’s easy to believe you’ve earned the right to improvise. Sometimes that works. Other times, that freedom backfires.
Cooking is like a song: every ingredient is an instrument. Add too much of one, and the whole thing’s off-key. It’s not about being fancy. It’s about being intentional.
Knowing Better, Doing Better
Even though I know all this, I still mess up. Not because I don’t care, but because I get too comfortable. Too confident. Too distracted. Sometimes all three.
So yes, I keep relearning the same lessons. Over and over.
And honestly? I don’t think that’s a flaw. I think that’s the job.
Because cooking, like everything that matters, isn’t just about knowing better. It’s about doing better.
