Editor’s note: The content of all opinion sections reflects the author’s personal views only and does not represent the position taken by The Collegian or its editorial board.
Last year, like other first-year students, I viewed Colorado State University cafeteria food with as much reverence as I would view prison food. Not because the food was that bad. In fact, CSU cafeterias offer relatively good food compared to other universities across the country. Nevertheless, my morale was low and I reluctantly headed to each meal, sighing and looking up at the salmon as if it had just jumped from the ocean onto my plate.
But now that I’ve been cooking for myself for less than two months, I’m dying to go back. Not for the quality of the food or the atmosphere in the cafeteria, but for the luxury of not having to cook.
I don’t hate cooking. I tolerate it. Of course there are some fun moments too. The hard work pays off when you follow the recipe, and boiling the garlic makes your nose feel better. But can I say that cooking brings me joy? That would be a lie.
“I was satisfied with the luxury of the dining room. Despite my complaints and severe aversions to some foods, money and time were never an issue in deciding what I would eat. ”
The reason I hesitate to get into the kitchen is simply because I don’t know what I’m doing.
This is a terrifyingly accurate description of my last 15 emails with my mom. “How do I cook salmon?” “Do I have to thaw it?” “For how long?” “Okay, now that it’s thawed, can I leave the skin on?” “Okay, fire. I think it passed, but the meat looks a little weird. Please look at the photo I sent.
However, a large part of my dislike of cooking stems from laziness. Most days, I don’t want to prepare meals, shop, or even use the stove. Despite spending hours scrolling through dinner inspiration on TikTok, I often find myself reverting to my old Maruchan ramen standby.
Cooking is not only hard work, it’s also hard to learn, especially for people who are self-diagnosed as hypochondriacs. I’m constantly worried that my food isn’t fully cooked, that there are bugs crawling on my produce, or that everything in my fridge is expired.
I liked the idea of making something myself. A random burst of creativity led me to come up with elaborate meals that even my college-aged self would never have dreamed of. So why is cooking scary now? You should never be afraid to go grocery shopping, but still bring a pot of water to a boil.
The culprit is shockingly obvious. This is the CSU cafeteria.
I literally got used to the routine of having food served to me on a platter. I didn’t need to meal plan. There was no need to wash the dishes. I didn’t have to watch my bank account dwindle every time I went grocery shopping. I was satisfied with the luxury of the dining room. Despite my complaints and severe aversions to some foods, money and time were never an issue in deciding what I ate.
Not to mention the dangers of swiping up too much food. Friday night was spent shopping for snacks, and when I had $30 left to spend on Chex Mix and Topo Chicos, money was no longer the object. My perception of food and its value quickly became severely distorted.
That’s why the transition from last year to this year felt so difficult for the cuisine. I’m sure there are many others in the same position as me, so let me reiterate that it’s completely normal for us to have a collective cooking panic. The kitchen is still a little scary, but each week I regain my footing and my curiosity to create something new. Who knows, maybe I’ll start making bread next.
Contact Emma Souza at letters@collegian.com or on Twitter. @_emmasouza.
