Creative Cooking, Between the Hours.

I cooked a pan-seared trout the other night. A green herb purée. Roasted tomatoes. Simple ingredients, intentional plating, time given where it mattered.

Pan-Seared Trout with Parsley Crème Fraîche & Blistered Tomatoes

It might be one of the most creative things I’ve made all year.

Not because it was complicated but because it asked for presence. It asked me to slow down, to think about balance and texture, to care about how something landed on the plate. Even more than the cooking itself, what stayed with me was watching friends enjoy something different. Seeing a dish land the way it was meant to land.

That feeling used to be daily.

Before the 9–5, I cooked almost every day. Cooking wasn’t a task, it was a rhythm. I built my days around it. I woke up when my body told me to, trained when I needed to, cooked when it felt right. Food was part of how I moved through time.

Now, it’s once or twice a week if I’m lucky.

Sometimes it’s creative. Sometimes it’s just sustenance. No prep, no ceremony, just enough to get through the next day. And I feel the difference immediately. Creative cooking asks for intention. Survival cooking just fills the space.

I miss the intention.

The reality is I need the job. Bills don’t pause for longing. Discipline has replaced drive, and structure has replaced curiosity. I clock in because I have to, not because I want to. And there’s something heavy about realizing how long you’ve been running on obligation instead of desire.

What caught me off guard was the relief I felt realizing I didn’t have to work today. MLK Day. No school. No commute. Just time returned to me unexpectedly. That relief said more than I wanted it to.

A few nights ago, a close friend and I talked over dinner about our jobs. We both agreed that this is the last year of working a 9-5 we have no love for. Not because we’re ungrateful, but because the work no longer gives back what it asks for. The drive is gone. All that’s left is discipline.

And discipline can carry you far, but it can’t feed you.

Creative cooking feeds something else. It’s not just about flavor or presentation. It’s about agency. About choosing how you spend your attention. About making something with your hands and seeing it land in real time.

I miss cooking every day. I miss waking up without dread. I miss moving through the day without constantly borrowing energy from tomorrow.

The strange part is I know I can live a structured, intentional life without this kind of work. I already have the systems. The routines. The discipline. What I don’t have right now is alignment.

And that misalignment shows up in the kitchen first.

When I cook creatively, I feel like myself again. When I don’t, I feel the absence. Food has always been part of the work. Not background. Not hobby. Practice.

So for now, I hold onto the moments when I can slow a pan, purée herbs until they’re impossibly green, and plate something that reflects how I want to live.

Creative cooking isn’t just what I miss.

It’s what reminds me where I’m headed.