My memories begin with afternoons in high school: in front of cutting boards and large quantities of produce and the weekly creation of batches of soup for Food Not Bombs. The pick ups, the washing and sorting, the chopping and simmering, would lead to this fantastic surprise in the end. Surprise! Like pulling a rabbit out of hat, but better and edible.Cooking every night often feels like a chore. A cycling through of pasta, stir fry, tacos, or curry. We rotate through the dishes again and again. But then there are nights like last night. I come across a recipe I have wanted to try and feel a bit gutsy. After looking  around and seeing I am only missing two ingredients I take it as a sign from the heavens. I reread the steps and measure carefully, at each step thinking it might all go wrong in which case, at the last minute, I will order a pizza (my least favorite food). Even as a I pop it into the oven I  want to cover my eyes, unsure about what will transpire.The pot pie takes my breath away. People are cooking dinner all the time, and yet it feels like magic. It feeds my entire family, it took less than an hour, and I am thrilled by the way it turns out. I savor each bite and almost regret not doubling the recipe so I could freeze one. My mind begins churning out variations and smaller portions and I am so grateful for time in the kitchen to cook.