Over the last couple of years I’ve repeatedly made jokes about how I’m “no good in the kitchen.” I’m notorious for using the excuse that my mother never really cooked as justification for my disinterest in fulfilling that role. I’ve admitted that on numerous occasions E and I have had to pitch the meal I attempted to make and order Papa Johns instead. (For the record, no shame here, I love Papa Johns.)
When we feel insecure or have bought into the lie that we’re no good at something, we tend to overcompensate by taking jabs at ourselves.
Truth be told, I’m not disinterested in cooking. That couldn’t be further from the truth. I love food and believe it’s a universal love language. I’ve been trying to ignore the Holy Spirit who’s nudging me to take a warm meal or a simple PB&J sandwich out to the corner where someone lives. The someone most see as homeless, lazy, drunk, delusional, and potentially dangerous.
“I’m not a good cook. I’ll leave that up to somebody else,” I tell myself.
And I carry on with my life. I scroll and see pretty foods with luscious colors all over Instagram and Pinterest, two places that have simultaneously awakened my cooking ambitions and affirmed my lack.
But lately I’ve been thinking a lot. (Probably too much for my own good.)
I love my husband like it matters, and it does. I schedule dates with girl friends like it matters, and it does. I pray like it matters, and it does. I write like it matters, and it does. So maybe if I cook like it matters, it will.
And I don’t mean that by cooking I will matter more or I’ll resemble Julia Child.
I mean that by doing something as if it matters, subconsciously makes it matter.
And with this mentality, we can undo lies and replace them with truth.
And with this new belief I can no longer ignore the nudge that I’m supposed to take a meal to the person sleeping on my corner.
So each time I set out to the Treasure Island grocery store on my corner to fill up my cart with ingredients for a recipe I want to try, I’m undoing a lie. I’m replacing that insecurity with truth.
Each time I obey the nudge from the Holy Spirit (despite feeling awkward), like taking a sandwich to her or a container of soup to him, I’m experiencing a taste of what Jesus’ life was really like.
It might even be an acquired taste, but something keeps drawing me back.
No more jabs. Just soup.
Three-cheese Tortellini Soup with Italian Sausage and Kale
- 1 Tbsp olive oil
- 16 oz hot Italian sausage, removed from casings
- 1 cup chopped yellow onion
- 1 cup chopped zucchini
- 1 cup chopped carrots
- 4 cloves garlic, minced
- 5 cups low-sodium beef broth
- 1 (8 oz) can diced tomatoes
- 1 (8 oz) can tomato sauce
- Salt and freshly ground black pepper
- 9 oz. refrigerated three cheese tortellini
- 2 cups packed chopped kale
- Olive oil into the heated pot, crumble sausage and stir, breaking up sausage occasionally, until cooked through
- Transfer cooked sausage onto a plate with several layers of paper towels
- Now saute onions, carrots, & zucchini for 3 minutes in the leftover olive oil
- Add garlic and saute 1 minute longer.
- Stir in beef broth, tomatoes, tomato sauce, and season with salt and pepper to taste.
- Bring to a light boil, return sausage to pot, cover pot and reduce heat to medium-low and allow to simmer until carrots are nearly tender, about 15 minutes.
- Stir in tortellini and kale then cover and cook 5 minutes longer.
- Serve warm with Parmesan cheese if desired (Note: as the soup rests the tortellini will absorb more broth so you can expect it to get thicker)