But there is another old saying that goes hand in hand with the ideas of invention and experimentation: “Failure is the mother of success.” That could not be truer with cooking as well. The next day, I tried making eggplant again, taking extra measures to ensure that I added just enough salt and soy sauce. Although it didn’t taste just the way mom made it, the dish was actually quite appealing. After all, there was no way I could screw up worse than I had the other day. Until now, I have made nearly all of my dinners in the kitchen of my dormitory. On more than one occasion have I wanted to kick myself for being so stupid as I cooked. But throughout the entire process of trial and error, such as using water instead of chicken soup to boil cabbage, or using week-old fish whose pungent odour lingered on the floor for days, I have developed a mentality of simply bouncing back and trying again the next day.
Now as I enjoy feasts not only myself, but also with my friends, I barely needed to think while I prepared the food, my movements built upon memories of the grimaces that I’ve had to pull or the stomach aches I’ve endured for the sake of the perfect meal. Perhaps that is one of the more exhilarating aspects of cooking: the idea that risks are the only guides on the path to mouthfuls of heavens.
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