On the first Wednesday I showed up, I remember being so nervous that I almost didn’t ring the doorbell. But Ms. Allen opened the door before I could back away and said, “Welcome! You’re just in time. I’ve got the onions ready.” And that was that—there was no big fuss, no pity party. We just got to work.
Before long, I realized she was teaching me more than just cooking skills. She taught me how to be patient with people, how to share a meal, and how to take pride in something done well. I started noticing that my confidence grew whenever I stirred a pot and smelled something delicious that I had made with my own hands.
She wiped her flour-covered hands on a dish towel and said, “You’re allowed to dream bigger than ‘somewhere.’ You know that, right?”
I shrugged. “It’s hard to dream big when you can barely afford dinner most days. People in my situation don’t usually get to choose.”
She gave me a thoughtful look. “Maybe that’s why you should dream bigger—so you can choose something different for your future.” Then she broke into a gentle smile, her eyes warm. “Listen, you have real talent in the kitchen. You don’t just do what I tell you—you’re tasting the food, adjusting spices, noticing if the sauce is too thick or too thin. Not everyone has that instinct.”
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