I love cooking, but because my mom is too much of a bimbo and my dad too much of a “manly man” to ever step into the kitchen, I never had the chance to learn from them. I grew up on delivery, takeout, eating out, and the incredible food made by the amazing woman who cooks for our family. I became deeply interested in cooking at the start of my teenage years and taught myself through the internet, books, that same woman, and other relatives.
I was more or less forced to contribute at home. It was not just cooking, but the whole process of dinner. It started with me having to set the table, clear the table, do the dishes and when we got a dishwasher, load it. Then I also had to peel potatoes, cut vegetables. The older I got, the more responsibilities I got. At some point I had a dedicated day in the week where nobody would be able to cook for me and others would eat later than I would. These days were initially just me and my dad, so my dad showed me literally once how he made pasta bolognese. The next week, it was my turn. I was given feedback on my cooking and the next week I could try again. I kinda liked doing it so in due time, I also had to cook on another weekday. My mom would show me how she handled certain things and after a while, but the time I was 16, I could make a couple of dishes and did so at least twice a week. My sister was gearing up to be a professional athlete (sadly she never made it that far) so she rarely cooked but once she stopped her sport, she would also cook twice a week.
This is less the story of how I learned to cook and more the story of how my parents trained their servants to cook for them.