What's so incredible? Why is she so awesome? How does she do it?

On my plate: oatmeal with sultanas, cinnamon-stewed apples, and maple syrup

On my plate: tomatoe basil soup, mulled apple cider, and spinach salad with tomatoes, red onion, and goat’s cheese

On my plate: loose leaf tea, Texas Ruby Red grapefruit, and an omelette of sauteed mushrooms, onions, spinach, and parmesan

On my plate: white bean soup with roasted garlic, white truffle oil, and herb pistou, parmesan toasts, and spinach salad with red onion, crimini mushrooms, and hardboilled eggs in balsamic vinaigrette

Cooking is magic, a magic that we alone on this earth get to enjoy. A pinch of salt or sugar and an open flame can turn something as ordinary as an egg into any number of creations not limited to the traditional breakfast fare (creme brule anyone?). And while bread will always be bread, there are about sixteen different names for various forms of toast, and none of them are “heated bread.” But that’s what it is. Turn up the heat a little and you can take the simple slice down a whole new career path.

I insist it really is magic. Cooking and baking not only transform already delicious foods into doubly delicious foods, but are part of a necessary process. Heat often sterilizes otherwise harmful agents, heat concentrates flavours, and most impressively, heat can break down cell walls, making superfoods easier to digest and their nutrients easier to absorb (sweet potatoe and beetroot are a prime examples of this). What else but heat can turn all of seemingly random this:

into cohesive (and delectable) this:

Baking especially mystifies me as one of the great powers of the universe. I’d like to know who discovered that magic. Unlike cooking, which is often much more forgiving and requires less leveling and more eyeballing, baking requires precise measurements, careful timing, and a watchful eye. And it’s complicated. There’s nothing about a pasta sauce that alludes me, or a soup, both of which have prescribed processes and rarely possess more than a handful of steps. Not baking. Baking is temperature sensitive and requires sequential steps (usually a lot of them), which provide a multitude of opportunities to screw up.

And yet you pile together some flour, butter, eggs, sugar, and the flavour of your choosing — cardamom, vanilla, chocolate, ginger, fruit, etc. — and a few minutes later you have a cake, or a custard, or a pie, or a cookie, or any other number of seemingly infinite possibilities for dessert creations. How long did it take humanity to notice that mixing fat and sugar was a recipe for success? When did we figure out the proper proportions? Add to that the knowledge that sugar, flour, and ovens were not commonplace until modern history (and are still rare in homes in places like Japan) and you have a truly astounding invention.

That brings me to the oven, that glorious and too often underused and under-appreciated device that must have been as revolutionary as the microwave in its time. Roasting in an oven is perhaps even more magical than the miracle of baking. To my experience and to my tastebuds, there is no better process for preparing vegetables than in a roasting pan. No other method will produce golden, soft, wildly sweet, and uncontainably delicious vegetables every time that serve your supper needs just as well as they would your desserts. No other invention is capable of turning a disgusting, wet, smelly animal into a pink, crispy, and moist dinner entree. No machine besides the humble oven can turn an average apple into a bubbling, sugary, flaky crisp fit to impress at any of the upcoming holidays. If that isn’t magic, I don’t know what is.

These are my gingersnaps. They aren’t as good as my college roommate Mae’s, but they smell of Christmas and remind me of home. And what Mae’s perfect cookies taught me was that cookies have to be made in the right mindset. What makes hers so good? She always makes them when she’s in a good mood. Of course, dusting them in spiced sugar doesn’t hurt, but I like to think that a relaxed gingersnap is much tastier cookie.

By now my passion for food of all varieties should be apparent (if the last two weeks of photographs weren’t proof enough). I have still to this day retained that childlike wonder about preparing food and the joy that comes from spending time and effort with your ingredients from start to finish. I am convinced that after years of cooking only when I’d enjoy it, I’ve now developed a relationship with food that puts me in a good mood whenever I cook. I see it as an investment. After all, I have many more meals ahead of me, and learning how to make many of them stellar is, in my opinion, a highly worthwhile pursuit.

On my plate: Yves veggie dog on a brioche bun with dijon mustard and onion marmalade, red cabbage coleslaw, and a Shiner Hefewiezen

On my plate: whole grain penne, feta cheese, and mixed roasted vegetables: carrots, sweet potatoes, yukon gold potatoes, red onion, garlic, zucchini, yellow squash, turnip, and button mushrooms

On my plate: iced chai latte, coconut macaroons, sliced pink lady apples, and a sandwich of multigrain toast, manchego cheese, sweet onion marmalade, and mixed field greens

To be honest, this onion marmalade was an experiment of mine. A few days ago my father and I found ourselves with a few sweet onions on our hands, and not sure what to do with them, I recalled an amazing flatbread appetizer I had at Founding Farmer’s restaurant in Washington DC: creamy brie, onion jam, and sliced organic apples served room temperature on fresh made flatbread. So last night at home, my father and I decided to experiment with the idea of an onion jam.

The above is the result. We combed the internet, used our noses and know-how, and after a few modifications and a bit of luck the onion chutney (we still don’t know what to call it) turned out to be one of the most surprisingly delicious concoctions. It’s the consistency of a relish and quite mild, making it ideal for delicate cheeses like brie, and although it has a round flavour, it isn’t spicy like you’d expect from the onion. It’d be perfect with a substantial meat like a pork chop or a sausage, and I personally loved it on a sandwich. Pretty soon I’ll be trying to recreate the Founding Farmer’s version, but for now I’m more than content with how it turned out. It just goes to show, a little bravery in the kitchen can go a long way.

Recipe for Onion Marmalade (adapted from Ben Watson’s of Riverside Farms):

cook time: 10-20 minutes

yield: 4 cups

ingredients

2 lbs (1 kg) sweet or red onions (we used four Nazca onions)

2 Tbsp vegetable oil

5 Tbsp red wine vinegar

1/2 cup (100g) brown sugar

1 Tbsp dijon mustard

directions

1. Slice the onions thinly and gently fry in the oil until they a quite soft and translucent, but not carmalised. Cover to retain more moisture and prevent browning.

2. Turn the heat up to dry them off and add the red wine vinegar and the sugar. Continue to cook, stirring frequently until thickened a little sticky.

notes: Don’t be concerned when cooking if there isn’t much liquid. Adding the sugar draws out most of the necessary moisture. The mix will have the consistency of a chutney. Variations: add a splash of white wine, tomato puree or Cumberland sauce. Red onions are even better.

On my plate: orange juice, white tea, over hard eggs with pico de gallo and hot tomatillo salsa, biscuits and strawberry jam (not pictured), and skillet potatoe home fries with onion

On my plate: bilberry pancakes with New England dark maple syrup