Teaching the Next Generation to Cook
BY LIZA FELTIMO | PHOTOS BY WINSTON ZHOU
AT THE RIPE OLD AGE OF 38, I stood before 20 teenage faces, ready to teach some of the most notoriously judgemental people how to cook. Was I nervous? Yes. Did I think they could smell my fear? Absolutely. Did I know I was in the right place? Nearly. It felt right, but only time would tell. As I began class, I thought, “How on Earth did I get here?”
In answering that question, I quickly learned that some of these students had never stepped into their own home kitchens, let alone held a knife or used a can opener. (One student asked me for a new sponge, because theirs was dry.) I can still sometimes smell the burnt wok, thanks to students who’d left a pan to burn before they even started their prep work. The resulting grease fire startled the entire class, myself included. Thankfully, it smothered itself out, but not before filling the kitchen with smoke and leaving a scorch mark in the wok that took six years to scrub out.
The myriad stories from my classroom are often hilarious but mostly illustrate how little teenagers (and their parents) are cooking these days. We are two generations deep into a culinary knowledge gap—despite all the cooking videos all over social media. Convenience and fast foods have become all too easy to grab on the go or stash in the freezer. Believe it or not, though, these kids want to learn skills that can keep them fed and alive.
My classroom experiences starkly contrast my own upbringing. I was raised by parents who loved food, cooking, and baking and they involved me in the processes. Pancakes were not only made from scratch, they were made without a recipe. A roast chicken dinner always meant chicken soup the next day, possibly with matzo balls. Pie crusts were handmade and the pies were decorated with pie crust leaves. We jokingly referred to ourselves as the Family That Couldn’t Stop Cooking. When we traveled, we ate what the locals ate. I don’t think I ever ordered from a kids’ menu.
And at age 15, I had a life-changing experience: I stood on a shell-lined side street in Provincetown, Mass., peering into a bustling restaurant kitchen. I could see line cooks moving with efficiency around massive blue flames, banging warped pots and pans, yelling in back-of-the-house jargon I didn’t understand. Yet. At this moment, I knew I needed to be in the world of food. I was hooked.
Growing up in New York City gave me access to a culinary scene my young students couldn’t imagine. Junior year of high school found me in the basement kitchen of Quilty’s, a Soho restaurant run by chef Katy Sparks. I was handed an apron, a side towel, and the biggest knife I had ever seen in my young life. They stood me in front of a cutting board with a tub of absolutely massive carrots and explained mirepoix, the aromatic base in French cooking. I began chopping, with no real idea what I was doing, which became abundantly apparent when I quickly sliced through two fingers. This earned me a cab ride to the ER and many layers of bandages.
Undeterred, I went back to Quilty’s as soon as I was fully healed. They trained me on knife skills, showed me how to hold my left hand like a claw, knuckles slightly forward, to protect those precious digits. With a paring knife in hand, I was told to behead and devein a box of whole shrimp. It must have been a hazing ritual, to give such an odorous job to a teenager who had to then go directly to school. Yet I still became obsessed with the profession. The camaraderie, the skill level required, and the pervasive pursuit of perfection all grabbed hold of me and hasn’t let go.
In the 1990s, if you wanted the best classical training in culinary arts, you went to the Culinary Institute of America (CIA) in Hyde Park, NY. One criterion for admittance was six months’ consecutive kitchen experience. I set to work my junior year of high school securing full-time employment in two kitchens in Provincetown for the summer. Living on my own with my best friend for three months while grinding away in two restaurants would surely give me the professional experience I needed to get in. I loved nearly every minute of it. Was there a crazy chef who threw food in the kitchen if it wasn’t perfect? Sure. Did I sit on a barrel of olives and cry in the walk-in? Absolutely. But I was gaining valuable experience with a heaping dose of grit mixed in. And I knew it.
They stood me in front of a cutting board with a tub of absolutely massive carrots and explained mirepoix, the aromatic base in French cooking.
And yet, working the line is very stressful. I became curious about the other side: baking and pastry. I was fortunate enough in my senior year to secure an internship at Bobby Flay’s Mesa Grill with Executive Pastry Chef Wayne Brachman. Every day before school, I’d change in the basement locker rooms, tie on an apron, and learn. How to use a balance scale and giant mixers. And how to shape hundreds of polenta bread rolls and make enormous batches of ice cream base. And equally important, the merits of kitchen humor and family meal. I was in heaven. Baking and pastry, with its long prep list and less-stressful service, was my calling.
After years of early mornings throughout high school, gaining experience in bustling New York City kitchens, I was accepted into the baking and pastry program at the CIA. Ever since that moment, food has taken me in wildly different directions. After working in high-end cuisine for two years, I moved to England to pursue a job at the renowned Fat Duck in Bray, Berkshire. While I didn’t end up there, I did meet my husband, a lovely Englishman, while working as a barmaid in his local pub.
Once back in the U.S. we started a family and I realized kitchen work would no longer be right for me. I went back to school to become a registered dietitian and quickly learned that Americans had forgotten how to cook. Parents were no longer passing down the tactile knowledge of cooking to the next generation. How could I, a dietitian, recommend less takeout and more homemade meals when most people I worked with couldn’t discern between parsley and a scallion? Teaching people to cook was the solution.
Incredibly, as I came to this conclusion, I was offered a job I thought no longer existed: high school home ec teacher. The job encompasses so many life skills humans need to thrive and grow. Cooking requires complete attention, time management, the ability to follow directions, and a willingness to take risks. It also requires the application of other disciplines such as chemistry, physics, reading, and basic math.
Teaching students to cook is by no means simple. Aside from the logistics of food purchasing and recipe development, 20 rambunctious teens are cooking at the same time. It is critical that they understand safety and basic cooking concepts before they are let loose.
The real challenge, though? Students have become risk averse, scared of failure in many aspects of their lives, and the kitchen is no different. The rigors of mandated testing combined with discouragement from trying something new and failing—perhaps both in school and at home—keep students from becoming curious about what could be if they simply tried. Instead I hear “it’s too hard” or “that sounds like too much work” or “I’m terrible, it won’t come out right.” I remind them, simply, that just like any skill it requires practice to become proficient and confident.
In the kitchen, I work one-on-one with every student to hone their knife skills and to improve their consistency and control. Their sense of autonomy and self-reliance improves with every careful risk they take, every new skill they acquire; they witness how one skill builds on the next. No one will leave as their generation’s Gordon Ramsay, but they’ll leave feeling comfortable using knives and hot oil and be able to cook basic food for themselves and their families.
This job takes a tremendous amount of planning and creativity, as we cook in every single class. Teenagers don’t always want to do what they’re told. They require some coaxing, even when it’s something I thought they’d be excited to make. Yet here is our next generation of adults. They need to know they can take care of themselves and others, that they can take risks and make mistakes and learn from them. Watching them try something new every day makes the more difficult parts of the job fall away, knowing that I am helping them grow, thrive, and become self-sufficient adults. You don’t need to be a professional chef to make food that matters.
Removing the burden of perfection from cooking allows anyone to make food they love, for those they love. Every day I bear witness to teenagers making food with pride and sharing it with friends or teacher. Could I get any luckier?
Crispy Stovetop Chicken Thighs
Ingredients
- ½ tablespoons olive oil
- 1½ pounds boneless chicken thighs excess skin removed (about 3–4 thighs)
- ½ teaspoon onion powder
- ½ teaspoon garlic powder
- ½ teaspoon chili powder
- Salt and fresh ground pepper to taste
- 1 tablespoon butter
- 2 cloves garlic minced
- 2 tablespoons white wine optional
- ½ cup low-sodium chicken broth (you can also use wineor juice)
- 2 teaspoons honey
- 5 ounces fresh baby spinach optional
- Squeeze of fresh lemon juice
Instructions
- Heat oil in a large skillet over medium/medium-high heat.
- Season chicken thighs with onion powder, garlic powder, chili powder, salt, and pepper.
- Add seasoned chicken thighs to the skillet, skin side down; cook for 5 minutes or until you can easily flip over the chicken.
- Flip and continue to cook for 8–10 more minutes, or until no longer pink and reaches 165°F internally.
- Make space in the center of the skillet and add butter and minced garlic; cook for about 30 seconds or until fragrant.
- Add white wine, chicken broth, and honey; stir around to scrape up all the crispy bits on the bottom of the pan.
- Continue to cook for 1 minute and remove from heat. Add in the baby spinach or other green of choice, if using. Cook until wilted.
- Squeeze a little lemon juice into the sauce. Serve over your favorite side, such as pasta, rice, or egg noodles.
