On becoming a cook, from the 1968 book Zen Macrobiotic Cooking, by Michel Abehsera:
It was a Saturday night when I decided to become a cook: Tell me, how much water do you use for that amount of noodles? Half a gallon, she said. She would be terse. Cooking was her last stronghold.
Well, do you have to boil the water first?
Yes, she answered, amused, as if from a great distance, suddenly confident in the inviolability of her position. It takes a very long time to become a cook, she told me, as if I were a child.
On the following Monday evening, between 6 and 7 P.M., forty people appeared at the flat, congregating to the tiny living room in anticipation of the promised feast. Invitations had been sent three days in advance, telling of a private restaurant to be made out of our humble living quarters.
That same day, at 10 A.M., I had not even mastered the minor art of cooking an egg. I was terrified. My wife herself, frankly, was beginning to panic at the thought of the night ahead.
The meal, when it was finally served, was incredibly beautiful to look at--not to minimize its palatability; indeed, it all seemed the work of a master. I was the most amazed. How did I do it? I asked my wife. She gave me the usual story of how I am a genius and an incomparable husband, etc. My vanity blossomed--my cooking improved. It was the first time in my life that I found vanity to be extremely useful. Every day for eight months I experimented with a new dish. Then one day I found I had become a cook--or rather became recognized as one.