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I started using a stove when I was eight years old, usually unsupervised.

 

Suffice to say, the ER soon knew my mother and me by name from all the burns and scalds I endured in the name of cupcakes. My mother still mentions the hospital workers' disapproving glares as she took me in each time... pretty surprising Oranga Tamariki never knocked on our door.

 

But hey, it taught me not to touch fire just because it's pretty. That's a valuable lesson microwaves can't teach.

 

My parents were clearly pretty freeform and relaxed to let me do that. Not relaxed enough to let me ride a bike, or have a sleepover, or pierce my ears till I was thirteen or so... but relaxed nonetheless.

 

Cooking is an important skill, though. It shocks me a bit to see teenagers and adults who apparently can't cook a steak, or who even draw the line at buttered toast.

 

And baking's nice. You follow the instructions and get a prize. Everything is spelt out for you and you have everything you need. A bit of time and a few songs later, you're putting something into the oven (usually making the whole house smell sweet and nice for a few hours).

 

I cook a lot, but bake the most - usually when I'm upset or stressed. A bit like how playing Tetris apparently calms people down after traumatic events, except the traumatic event in my case is generally more akin to a slightly disappointing maths result.

 

I make too much food, though. I can't eat it all and I don't want my annoying brothers to have it, so recently I've invaded school or my friends' houses with cookies or cakes.

 

I was in the kitchen with my mother a lot as a kid. And, having baked with little kids myself, I can confirm that requires quite a lot of patience. But she was perfectly calm and always let me do all the easy jobs, then still gave me majority credit.

 

I never baked - only ever cooked with my father. He was more snippy and less prepared. And any missing ingredient would just be substituted with the closest resembling substance - "well, they're both white... this should do the trick". Spoiler: it usually didn't and bordered on inedible. But it was still a lot of fun.

 

The kitchen is pretty much the only time a kid can get undivided time with a parent. There's deadlines in a kitchen, and actual risks if you get distracted. So all little me had to do was sit on a bench or wash some lettuce while I gabbed my mum's ear off the whole time.

 

Over time, I started cooking by myself when my parents couldn't make it home in time. I always loved how the end result was directly caused by how well you followed the rules. Mixed too much? It's tough and dense. Got distracted? It's burnt. Used poor substitutes? Your muffins taste like talcum powder (which, although white, doesn't quite serve the same function).

 

My mother's pretty busy in recent years, and I can't exactly cook with my dad, so it's been a while since I've cooked with anyone else there. Even when I cook with my friends I'm pretty controlling, since a part of me dies seeing olive oil in a cake.

 

But it's a fun pastime, and a skill I think everyone should have.

 

To end, I'll share the three sort-of litmus tests I have for people I meet. Their answers can say a lot about them.

 

1: Can you name all the Beatles?

 

2: Who do you play as in Mario Kart?

 

And lastly;

 

3: How many teaspoons in a tablespoon?

 

(And yes, #2 does have correct and incorrect options.)

 

Now go comment your answers and I'll decide if you deserve to live ;p