How I Fell in Love with Cooking —Accidentally

My name’s Aubrey Lane, I’m 28, and I never thought I’d find myself teaching others how to cook—not because I didn’t love food, but because for most of my life, I genuinely thought I was terrible at it.

I grew up just outside Kansas City, in a house where dinner often came from a box or the microwave. Don’t get me wrong—those meals were filled with love, just not a whole lot of technique. My mom worked two jobs, and I learned early how to scramble eggs and make ramen that didn’t stick to the pot (well, not always). But for the most part, “real” cooking felt like something other people did—people on TV with spotless kitchens and fancy knives.

Then came college. I shared a tiny apartment with two roommates and a stove that hissed when you lit it. One night, in the middle of a snowstorm, I decided I was going to make chili. I had no clue what I was doing. I dumped in canned beans, way too much cumin, and used cocoa powder because someone on the internet said it was “secretly amazing.” It wasn’t. But the three of us sat on the floor, bowls in hand, laughing at how weird it tasted and how proud I was of that weirdness. That’s when something clicked.

From that point on, cooking became a quiet obsession. I tried recipes late at night after my shifts at a bookstore. I burned rice, over-salted soup, underbaked brownies—but I kept going. I started jotting down what worked, what didn’t, what made me feel confident. I learned that success in the kitchen isn’t about perfection—it’s about trying, tasting, adjusting, and most importantly, enjoying the process.

Now I live in a little cottage near a park, where I host casual cooking nights for friends and neighbors who, like me, once thought they were “bad at cooking.” I keep things simple, cozy, and judgment-free. We laugh a lot. We share stories. And we celebrate every small victory—like flipping your first pancake without mangling it, or finally learning how to chop an onion without crying (okay, still working on that one).

If you’re starting from scratch, I want you to know: you’re not alone. Everyone begins somewhere, and that somewhere is often messy, surprising, and full of flavor. Just take a deep breath, turn on some music, and let’s get cooking. Mistakes are welcome here. So are second helpings.