I’ve discovered something over the first few months of marriage (well, many things, actually, but one that I want to focus on today). And the discovery is this:

I. Love. Cooking.

I don’t just like it. I love, love it, like Holly Flax confirms Michael Scott love-loves her in the TV series The Office. This isn’t an “oh, cooking’s kind of cool!” fleeting feeling. This is a baked-into-my-DNA, bone-deep kind of passion. 

This may not sound like a total surprise if you’ve been around for any length of time and read blog posts about homemade salad dressing or email newsletters about what I’m loving in the kitchen. It may also seem puzzling that this realization is new after almost four years of cooking for myself post-grad. Somehow, the institution of marriage has shined a spotlight on this part of my soul. 

Before we tied the knot, Mitch and I discussed who would take on what household responsibilities. We knew we’d each take ownership of a few and ask for help when we needed it. It was decided that dinner would mostly fall under my domain, but we didn’t necessarily spell out all the details. Would he cook one day a week? Would we dance through the kitchen together? Would I do it all and just ask for help as needed? We’d figure it out as we went, we decided. 

The first few months of Mr. and Mrs. Mason have come and gone, and a few rhythms have floated to the surface, revealing themselves to be helpful, holy, and plain obvious winners. Grocery shopping, meal planning, and executing said meals have all come from my two hands. Mitch has taken on many other tasks (i.e. weekly cleaning, apartment maintenance, etc.). This ecosystem of responsibility and serving one another has worked marvelously for us, and the health and well-being of our sweet home are flourishing. 

I was slightly overwhelmed, and—if I’m being honest—a tad bit nervous, when I realized the never-ending need for lunch wrap tortillas, dinner ingredients, and eggs + onions + cottage cheese for breakfast casseroles. I didn’t just want to cook; I wanted to do it well. I wasn’t nervous Mitch would be picky or dislike my humble efforts of stirring soups and sauces and veggie sautees at the stove, but I wanted to dish up dinners and the like that he would truly love. Food is such a nourishing substance to our bodies, yes, but also to our souls. I wanted this nourishment for our home, for the family culture we were (and still are) building. I wanted dinner to be a place that filled us up in every way—physically, emotionally, spiritually, intellectually. 

Some of my nerves also came from the reality I was out of practice. For six months before we were married, we both lived with his parents. His mom, a phenomenal cook and generous hostess, cooked for us most evenings. I’d make dinner for everyone here and there, but I was not in the rhythm of creating an exhaustive grocery list each week. My store-savvy skills needed some dusting off. 

During those first few weeks of marriage, I stumbled through the motions of cooking, shopping, prepping, and planning. It was like the first few workouts back after a long time away from the gym. I was sore for a few days (weeks) after my first few sprints, but my strength and stamina returned after some repetition, my muscle memory kicking in. Before I knew it, not only was I in the swing of things—I was reaching new heights of joy I’d never experienced. 

Chopping veggies, slicing chicken, and whipping up pineapple salsa for tostadas wasn’t a chore. It became a love language. It was a pure, physical expression of love for our bodies, our souls, and Mitch’s peace of mind that he didn’t have to concoct anything when he got home from a full day in the office. 

The sizzling of homemade, gluten-free (and Chick-fil-A grade) chicken nuggets thrilled me. An Italian-style stuffed spaghetti squash brought bold flavor and a boatload of fun. Even the weekly breakfast casserole became a creative challenge: what flavor profiles could I bring to it this week? What would a simple, savory recipe look like vs. a veggie, protein-packed dish? The weekly dance of managing our meals was riveting and fired up the band of butterflies within me.

As I mentioned, it didn’t start this way. The first weekend of our married life, I cried on Friday night, telling Mitch, “When will I go to the store? When will I have time for all this? Where will I get new ideas?” The thought of engineering every meal in our home, forever, paralyzed me. As you can imagine, that train of thought was not helpful. But the stress was very much real. 

I’ve boiled down the handful of strategies that have set me up for success in the kitchen and allowed joy to take center stage, kicking stress, obligation, and discontentment to the curb. I’m sure there will be seasons when I want new inspiration or need ways to freshen up this rhythm, but I believe these principles will help me find a good groove again. Here are the first five tips—the final five will be shared in a follow-up blog post sometime soon. Let me know in the comments which are the most helpful to you and what keeps you moving forward in your culinary expeditions! 

001. I never, ever go into a store without a list. 

Maybe it’s because this is just smart, but there’s a greater possibility it’s because I get very easily overwhelmed in grocery stores. Truly. If I am going to cry or have a breakdown in public, there’s a 99% chance it’s in Trader Joe’s or Whole Foods. My list—which I compile in my Notes app so I can check off as I go—keeps me grounded, on task, and alleviates any questions about what needs to end up in my cart. It also keeps me on track with our budget. 

002. I make my grocery list based on the 2-3 recipes I’m planning to make the next week. 

Planning exactly what you’re going to have every single meal may seem overwhelming or rigid, but it transformed my grocery shopping after college. The meals don’t have to be laid out in an Excel document or followed to a T. I leave wiggle room in our list by adding “Leftovers or whatever we can find” where I need to. But this rhythm informs the grocery list. So I choose a couple recipes I’m excited to try the next week and then hit the store. 

003. Speaking of hitting the store, I will do anything to avoid stepping foot in a grocery store on a Saturday or Sunday. 

I usually run in on Thursday afternoon/evening, or Friday morning/afternoon. Sometimes even on Monday. Yes, this helps minimize my time in an overcrowded, bustling, supercharged store of stress, but nothing brings me down on a Sunday morning like knowing I have to go fight the crowds later that afternoon. Grocery shopping is not life-giving for me (public breakdowns, remember?), and I don’t want to spend my weekends that way. So I don’t. You don’t have to, either, if you don’t want to. 

004. I have a cookbook of the season. 

This is a physical book (or sometimes a Pinterest board or blog haul) that I will cook my way through, one recipe after another. It’s an easy go-to for my weekly meal planning, and I’ve been known to sit in the Trader Joe’s parking lot with my cookbook in hand, perusing the pages and making my beloved list before winding through the aisles. Two of my all-time faves (and in my personal opinion, the mecca of gluten-free and clean recipes) are Danielle Walker’s Eat What You Love and The Defined Dish by Alex Snodgrass.

005. I spend 30-90 minutes prepping food on Sunday evenings. 

This doesn’t steal my whole day or night, but it’s enough time to set us up for success. I’ll usually make our breakfast casserole, along with a chopped salad for quick lunches. Plus, I’ll bake any chicken we need for the week, whether it’s for lunch protein or any other upcoming recipes. Whenever I’m tempted to skip the prepping and I indulge, I always regret it. I’m not saying we must operate like robots and schedule every moment of our lives, but taking a few minutes to help our future self pays off. Cutting, chopping, and marinating the food in our fridge will make us way less likely to phone in Chipotle at the last minute. Not that I’ve ever done that…