The first time I felt joy doing this, I was standing in a sunlit kitchen halfway across the world, a wooden spoon clutched in my hand, whisking a concoction with the kind of determination I’d normally save for untangling necklace chains or navigating complex family group texts. A warm, citrusy aroma filled the air, and as I licked a speck of batter off my finger (don’t judge—it’s called quality control!), I paused, and it hit me: I wasn’t just making food. I was creating connection.
This wasn’t a Pinterest-perfect moment where I donned a flawless apron and everything came out Instagram-ready. In fact, I was so far removed from that love-interest-in-a-romantic-comedy aesthetic. My hair was frizzing from the Mediterranean humidity, there was a dubious splash of olive oil on my shirt, and the batter I was working with looked… well, let’s call it "texturally adventurous." But none of that mattered. For the first time, I fully realized that food—for me—wasn’t just survival or habit. It was joy, discovery, and (surprise twist) something way deeper: a form of love.
Let's rewind, break it down, and find the joy for you, too.
Love is a Lot Like Cooking (Messy but Worth It)
It’s no coincidence that many flirtations start over dinner invitations or coffee dates. Food and love are intrinsically tied. Both require effort, intention, and the courage to take risks—because sometimes, you’re walking a fine line between “sensational crème brûlée” and “what’s that burnt-smelling blob in the oven?”
Before this joyful kitchen epiphany, I’d treated cooking as a chore: something you do to keep yourself alive. Eggs. Noodles. Repeat. But this day was different. I had been invited to stay with a friend in Italy—a tiny village where the Wi-Fi was spotty but the people, prosecco, and passionate arguments about pesto recipes were all abundant.
Her nonna (grandmother, for those who didn’t pay attention in Dueling Linguistics 101) insisted on teaching me how to bake ciambellone, a traditional Italian sweet bread shaped like a ring. It was a kitchen Olympics-level exercise in patience, trust, and getting out of my comfort zone. My first instinct? Panic! It was like those early days of dating someone new when you’re desperately analyzing what they said versus what they meant. But Nonna didn’t hover or micromanage. She gave me the space to experiment and make mistakes—flour everywhere, sun streaming in through the old wooden shutters, laughter bubbling between us about differences in technique. And just like that, I was reminded: the magic isn’t in perfection. It’s in effort and care.
Recipe for Joy (Yes, I Made a Pun): How Passion Finds You
There’s this myth that “passion” appears in some grand, thunderclap moment. You’re supposed to just know when you’ve found your calling, your soulmate, or your perfect pasta sauce. But can I let you in on something that took me years to learn? More often, passion sneaks up on you when you're not looking.
The first step? Start saying yes. Nonna didn’t chain me to the counter and demand I participate—I chose to lean in, butterflies and all. In relationships, hobbies, or life in general, you can’t find joy if you’re too afraid to risk failure. So:
- Sign up for that new experience (even if it sounds intimidating). A cooking class? Absolutely. Salsa dancing? Why not.
- Shift your focus from outcome to process. You don’t always have to nail perfection. It’s not about the final result; it’s about the love and mess you put into it.
- Connect your work to something bigger. For me, food became about community and care—not just calories on a plate. What fuels your soul might connect to family, culture, or curiosity too.
Flirting with Flavor (How This Taught Me About Relationships)
Here’s where it gets good: cooking also reminded me so much of the dynamics of dating and relationships. Hear me out.
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Be Willing to Spice Things Up
In cooking (and love), you can follow the same predictable recipe forever… or you can ignore the cookbook once in a while. A dash of chili powder to an otherwise boring dish—or being spontaneous in your relationship—can lead to discoveries you didn’t know you needed. Let yourself play! -
Patience is Sexy
Not every dish—or relationship—comes together instantly. Sometimes, the best results are the slow, simmered ones. The ones you invest in and tend to carefully. And like a perfectly cooked risotto, the reward is so worth the patience. -
Not Every Recipe Works for Everyone
Your grandmother’s spaghetti bolognese might be my cilantro-overload nightmare, and both of us are valid. The same applies romantically. What works for someone else (lengthy phone calls every night, flowers on Fridays) might not be for you. The trick is finding what’s authentic and fulfilling for YOU.
Aftertaste: Joy Isn’t Actually About What You Do
By the time the ciambellone came out of the oven, golden and glowing, I wasn’t just tasting success. I was tasting joy—layered like flaky phyllo dough. Yes, this moment gave me a newfound appreciation for my connection to food. But more than that, it taught me how important it was to find pieces of myself in what I do and share them generously.
Here’s the kicker: the joy wasn’t just about baking (though the bread was delicious, in case you were wondering). It was about realizing that I could pour love into that moment—love for food, new friends, and myself. And when you give yourself permission to feel joy in one area, that courage spills into how you approach love, work, and life. It’s all beautifully tied together.
Bite-Sized Wisdom to Leave With
Whether your joy is sparked by baking, writing, rock climbing, or just the quiet intimacy of folding laundry with someone special, here’s the truth: the first time you feel real passion will set the tone for the rest of the journey. You’ll feel the lemon-zest brightness of doing something that matters, not because it’s Instagram-worthy or productive but because you infused it with heart.
So the next time you’re scared to dive into something new—whether it’s trying pottery class, planning a romantic dinner, or having a vulnerable conversation—remember the ciambellone. Embrace the mess, laugh through the process, and trust that there’s joy waiting to be discovered. Even if you burn the first batch.
Bon Appétit to your passions—and everything they teach you about love.
