Food has always felt more like a language to me than anything else. Every region has its own spoken language or dialect, but they also have their own way of cooking, eating, and sharing meals. One of my favorite examples of this is what I loosely call “stuffed dough dishes.” At first you might think of dumplings like soup dumplings, gyoza, mandu, pierogi, wontons, or ravioli. Then there are dishes closer to rolls, like spring rolls or lumpia. Others lean more toward pastry, like calzones, samosas, pirozhki, kolaches, or empanadas. Even though they all have different names, histories, and flavors, at their core they are all variations of the same idea: dough wrapped around filling. Some were created independently, while others evolved from cultural exchange and influence over time.
I think food does that constantly. It travels, adapts, and tells stories without needing translation. Food has a way of speaking to people that almost everyone can understand.
When I was younger, though, I wasn’t adventurous with food at all. Like most kids, I stayed safely within the things I already knew I liked. As I got older, I slowly started trying new foods, though usually with some convincing. There were still plenty of things I refused to touch.
Then somewhere around college, something shifted.
That period of my life felt like my mind was constantly running at full speed. I was questioning everything, thinking deeply about life, identity, purpose, and the world around me. Somewhere during all of that, food suddenly became fascinating to me too. I’m not entirely sure what caused it. Maybe it was watching videos of people cooking dishes from around the world, or maybe it was visiting restaurants in places like Chicago and New York City where I was exposed to cuisines I had never really experienced before.
Unfortunately, living in a rural area meant my options were limited. Most restaurants nearby fell into a few familiar categories, usually Americanized Mexican or Asian food. So I decided that if I wanted to experience different cuisines, I would learn to cook them myself.
What started as curiosity slowly became a passion.
I began choosing different countries and cooking recipes from each one as a way to learn about their culture through food. Cooking stopped feeling like a chore and became something I genuinely looked forward to. There was something exciting about spending hours preparing a meal I had never tasted before, trying to understand flavors and techniques that were completely unfamiliar to me. It felt creative, immersive, and oddly comforting at the same time.
I only explored a handful of countries before I moved to Florida for an internship, and that was when my relationship with cooking suddenly changed. I was living with three other people, and at the time I was still very reserved socially. I hated cooking when other people were around. Meals that once took hours became five-minute shortcuts just so I could avoid being in the kitchen too long.
Around that same period, I experienced my first real episode of depression, and it completely drained my love for cooking.
When I moved back home afterward, that passion didn’t return with me. Thankfully I still lived with other people, so I didn’t always have to cook, but when I did, I only did the bare minimum. That lasted for about a year until life briefly improved again. I found a job I loved, made new friends, and for a while the depression loosened its grip on me. Slowly, cooking started returning too. Not the elaborate meals from before, but enough for me to actually look forward to being in the kitchen again.
Then everything unraveled again.
The job disappeared. Family problems intensified. Depression returned. And with it, my love for cooking vanished too.
That eventually led to an impulsive move back to Florida because I thought changing locations might somehow fix everything. It didn’t. Another move back to the Midwest followed, along with another depressive period, and somehow that brings me to where I am now.
Cooking again.
Recently I’ve been making a lot of Japchae and Bibimbap. Both dishes have made me want to explore more Asian cuisines and flavors. I’ve even found a few authentic restaurants nearby, or at least nearby by Midwest standards. Most of them are over an hour away, which honestly doesn’t bother me. The harder part is finding people willing to try unfamiliar foods with me.
I think that’s part of why food matters so much to me now. It’s not just about eating. It’s curiosity, culture, comfort, memory, creativity, and connection all existing in the same place.
I hope to write more about specific dishes, cuisines, restaurants, and personal experiences with cooking and baking in future entries. For now, though, this feels like the best introduction to what cooking currently means to me and the role it has played throughout different periods of my life.