Support

Alright, real talk I used to be a disaster in the kitchen. Like, set-off-the-smoke-alarm level of disaster. Back in first year, I lived off of instant ramen, frozen pierogis, and whatever scraps were left in the shared fridge that didn’t look like a science experiment. I wasn’t proud, but I was surviving. Barely.

Then came second year. Moved into a new place off-campus, way less meal plan action, and suddenly I had this weird urge to learn how to actually cook for myself. Part of it was being broke and tired of spending $12 on sad burritos. Part of it was watching too much TikTok. But mostly? I was just sick of feeling like trash after every meal.

So yeah, I started small. Fried eggs. Rice. The most basic stir-fry imaginable. Stuff even I couldn’t mess up too bad. Burnt a few things (okay, a lot), but I slowly started figuring out what spices go with what, how to not undercook chicken (important), and why olive oil is your best friend.

One of my early wins was this lentil curry I made after watching a YouTube video like, five times. It wasn’t perfect, but I felt like a wizard. Like, “I made this?? With my own hands??” Total game changer. After that, I just got obsessed. I’d be in the middle of writing a paper and suddenly think about tweaking a pasta recipe or trying out this lemon garlic tofu I saw on Instagram.

Also, food started feeling way more personal. It wasn’t just fuel it was comfort, creativity, even therapy some days. I’d throw on music, chop veggies while ranting about my classes to whoever was in the kitchen, and just... cook. Messy, chaotic, sometimes questionably seasoned, but mine.

Now, not gonna lie, cooking isn’t always glamorous. There are days I still cave and order sushi or go full goblin mode with leftover pizza. Especially during exam season. You ever try to cook while your brain’s melting from studying and you’ve got two deadlines hanging over your head? Not happening. That’s when I lean into my emergency food stash or just accept defeat and order takeout.

And yeah, I’ve even used a write my essay online Canada service once or twice when I literally couldn’t juggle everything. No shame. It’s not about being lazy; it’s about surviving, ya know? Sometimes you need help with essays, just like sometimes you need help not burning toast.

But here’s the weird part: the more I cooked, the more other stuff in my life started to feel manageable. Like, cooking became this small act of control in the middle of uni chaos. You pick your ingredients, your method, your vibe. You screw up, you learn, you try again. There’s something really grounding about that. Plus, it's cheaper (usually) and you get leftovers, which is like bonus food for future you.

Also? Sharing food is kinda the best thing ever. I started inviting friends over for little dinners. Nothing fancy just pasta nights, taco Tuesdays, or lazy dumpling evenings. We'd eat, gossip, complain about our profs. It made school feel less isolating. One time, I made a massive pot of chili, and like eight people showed up. We ate it with bread and cheese and argued about movies till 2 a.m. It was chaotic and perfect.

I even got my roommate into it. She used to live off microwave meals, and now she makes this unreal spinach and feta spanakopita from scratch. I don’t even know how she learned, but I’m not questioning it just enjoying the benefits.

If you’d told me back in first year that I’d be this into food, I would’ve laughed with a mouth full of cold leftover fries. But here we are. Cooking is kinda my thing now. Not in an influencer “here’s my aesthetic fridge” way (mine is mostly half-used sauces and yogurt) but in a real, messy, student-life kinda way.

So yeah. If you’re thinking about cooking more but feel like you don’t know where to start just start. Make something simple. Burn it. Try again. Ask your grandma. Watch a video. Call your mom for that one recipe. It doesn’t have to be pretty or perfect. It just has to be yours.

And who knows? You might just fall in love with your own cooking. Or at the very least, save some cash and stop crying over soggy dining hall pasta.