Ever tried your hand at cooking in someone else’s home? Even if making grilled cheese isn’t very difficult, you might be on a terrible treasure hunt while you stand there fumbling with the wrong drawers. Spoons when forks should be, a 1974 can opener that resembles a mediaeval torture device rather than a practical tool, and expired spices from the Clinton era. By the time you’ve found the pan, your appetite’s already packed up and left.
That’s why I don’t cook in other people’s kitchens. And by “kitchens,” I don’t just mean the ones with ovens and sticky fridge doors.
The Kitchen as Metaphor
We all have our own kitchens. Not just literal ones, but also the way we operate in life and the methods we use to get work done. The boundaries we set or don’t set. The little systems and quirks that make sense to us, even if they look bizarre to someone else.
Step into somebody else’s kitchen, and you’re in their world. Their order, their chaos. Maybe they’ve got a flow that works perfectly for them but makes zero sense to you. And if you’re not careful, you’ll end up burning your toast because you were too busy trying to figure out their toaster’s settings instead of focusing on, you know, the toast.
It’s a small metaphor for a big truth: if you’re always trying to function by someone else’s setup, you’re going to get lost in their drawers and forget what you even came in there for.
Respecting Other People’s Recipes
Don’t get me wrong. Sometimes we need to cook with other people. Collaboration is part of life. You get invited to someone’s dinner party, you don’t barge in and rearrange their spice rack. You respect their process.
That’s the thing, though. Respect.
One of the sharpest lines in Kimi•isms: Wit, Wisdom & Word F*ckery nails it: “I do my best to avoid cooking in anybody else’s kitchen, not knowing everything they’ve already tossed in the pot, or how much they’ve already stirred it.”
It’s not about being stubborn. It’s about knowing you can’t control the ingredients in someone else’s stew. If they want to add raisins to their potato salad, well, that’s their journey. Sometimes the best choice is to step back and let them stir.
Finding Your Own Flavor
Here’s the flip side. If you’re not cooking in someone else’s kitchen, you actually have to tend to your own. That means figuring out what your flavor is. Not the “Pinterest-perfect, let me copy what they’re doing” flavor, but your actual taste.
Think about it: how many times have you tried to adopt someone else’s habits because it worked for them? The Productivity Guru’s 4 a.m. Routine. The friend who swears by celery juice. The boss’s way of running meetings makes you want to crawl under the table.
Half the time, those recipes don’t sit right in your gut. And yet we keep trying them, as if someone else’s spice blend is the secret key to our happiness.
Cooking in your own kitchen is about paying attention to what actually works for you. You may thrive with lists. Perhaps you may hate lists and prefer sticky notes stuck all over your monitor. You may like slow mornings. Maybe you’re the type who wakes up like a rocket. None of those are wrong; they’re just flavors. Your flavors.
A Little Chaos Is Okay
Here’s a confession: my own kitchen is messy. Not just literally, though my sink would like a word with me. But in the bigger sense. My way of living and working doesn’t always look efficient from the outside.
I journal, but half the entries are “See calendar.” I make plans, then throw them out the window when inspiration decides to show up at 2 a.m. I believe in gratitude, but sometimes my “three things I’m thankful for” look more like “coffee, Wi-Fi, and the neighbor’s dog who didn’t bark today.”
And that’s fine. That’s flavor. My flavor.
You don’t have to Marie Kondo your soul for someone else’s approval.
What Readers Are Saying
One Amazon reviewer of Kimi•isms: Wit, Wisdom & Word F*ckery put it beautifully: “It reads like coffee with a brutally honest friend who makes you laugh even as they dismantle your assumptions.”
That’s what this whole “kitchen” idea feels like. Not a polished TED Talk on boundaries. Just a reminder, served with a grin that we get to decide what goes into our own pots. And sometimes the best advice is delivered with a wink.
Why This Matters
We live in a culture that loves to hand out recipes. Self-help books, Instagram hacks, coaches promising the “ten steps” to a better life. And hey, sometimes those recipes are delicious. But they’re not yours until you make them yours.
That’s what’s refreshing about Cole’s book. It doesn’t come at you with a laminated rulebook. It gives you fragments. Observations. Funny, biting one-liners. You get to taste them, see what resonates, and leave the rest.
Like this one: “Look for a way, or look for an excuse—either way you’re likely to find exactly what you seek.”
Simple. A little spicy. But it sticks.
The Invitation
So, why don’t I cook in other people’s kitchens? Because I’d rather not lose myself rummaging through their junk drawers when I could be seasoning my own stew.
The same invitation stands for you. What would it look like to cook in your own kitchen, literally or metaphorically? To stop forcing someone else’s recipe and start trusting your own taste buds?
You don’t need to burn down the old cookbook; try your own flavor once in a while. You might be surprised what you whip up.
One More Thing
Kimi•isms: Wit, Wisdom & Word F*ckery isn’t a cookbook. But it’s the kind of book you keep nearby, like one dog-eared and splattered with coffee, revisited whenever you need a little spark.
It’ll make you laugh. It’ll make you roll your eyes. It’ll make you scribble down a line or two for later. And it might just remind you to quit rummaging around in someone else’s spice cabinet when your own kitchen is waiting.
So grab a copy. Please put it on your counter. Stir your own pot.
Because life’s too short to eat somebody else’s reheated leftovers.