Scott's Chronicles | Harbor Journal
I learned how to cook a steak from my dad.
Not from a cookbook. Not from a video. And certainly not from one of those people who want to turn cooking dinner into a science project.
From my father.
It was about paying attention. Knowing your heat. Understanding your timing. And figuring out when something was ready without having to make a federal investigation out of it.
That's how I learned, and for a lot of years, it worked pretty well.
I was confident in my ability to cook a good steak. Still am, for that matter.
Then my father and I took a cooking class led by Chef Charles.
And I discovered there's a difference between knowing how to cook something and understanding why what you're doing works.
A Little Knowledge Can Be Dangerous
Now, I didn't walk into that class thinking I was going to become a professional chef.
I also didn't walk in thinking I needed somebody to teach me everything from scratch.
I'd been cooking for years. I knew my way around a kitchen. I had my own methods, my own habits, and a pretty good sense of what worked.
But there's something about learning from somebody who approaches cooking at an entirely different level.
You start thinking about things differently.
For me, the biggest takeaway wasn't some fancy restaurant trick. It was the mechanics I'd been skipping over for years.
The angle of the steak on the grill. The timing it takes to get the char lines right for presentation. Bringing the meat to temperature properly instead of guessing at it. Paying attention to the heat of the surface itself.
Dad taught me instinct. The class taught me what was happening underneath the instinct.
Dad Gave Me the Foundation
Here's the part I appreciate more as I've gotten older.
Nothing about that class took away from what my father taught me.
If anything, it made me appreciate it more — especially since he was right there learning it alongside me.
Dad taught me to trust my instincts. To watch what was happening. To understand that timing matters.
That foundation was already there.
The class just showed us both what was going on underneath it.
And somewhere along the way, I became the guy who can spend an unreasonable amount of time looking at different recipes before deciding how I'm going to make dinner.
Tina, on the other hand, can find a recipe, follow it, and produce a perfectly good meal.
I apparently need to conduct research.
We each have our methods.
The Part That Stayed With Me
I could probably tell you a dozen things I've picked up in kitchens over the years.
But when I think back on that class, what stands out isn't just the cooking.
It's that my father and I did it together.
We went somewhere, learned something side by side, and came home with an experience that kept showing up every time I cooked.
Dad's gone now. But every time I lay a steak on the grill at the right angle and watch the char lines come up even and clean, he's right there in it. I cook with both lessons now — his, and the one we learned together.
Some of the best memories aren't big occasions. They're things you did together that changed how you approach something ordinary.
For us, cooking is one of those things.
We make a meal, usually use more pots and pans than any two reasonable people should, sit down, eat, and eventually decide whether we'd make it again.
That's our version of a good evening.
And every once in a while, when I'm working on a steak or trying something a little differently, I think about what I learned from my dad and what that class added to it.
Different lessons. Different times in my life.
Both still useful.
Still Learning
I don't think there's an age when you ought to stop learning something new.
Especially something you already enjoy.
Sometimes the lesson changes what you do.
Sometimes it just helps you understand why you've been doing it that way all along.
And sometimes the best part isn't what you learned at all.
It's who was sitting beside you when you learned it.
Have you ever taken a class or learned something new that changed the way you do something you've been doing for years?