MANILA, Philippines ? After living in my house for close to three years, I?ve just started to actually use my kitchen. For the longest time, we have let our cook take care of all the food preparation at home (with the occasional night-out for something different). Now that we have a new (and still giddy) cook, I thought it might actually be time to break things in. Rather, break me in.

Not long ago, I was a guest on ?Spoon,? Janice de Belen?s cooking and celebrity talk show. She asked just how much cooking I did, and at the time I said, none. I?ll admit, I was a bit embarrassed by my answer, especially since I had to show off my prowess in the kitchen. My afritada, thankfully, was a hit, and the on-set kitchen didn?t burst into flames.

Following that taping and the eventual airings of my episode, I got to thinking ? what exactly is stopping me from taking the reins in the kitchen? Isn?t this conventionally the homemaker?s domain?

My mother and brother both cook, and incredibly well. My mom has been cooking for what seems like forever (her palate is so good that she can tell what?s in a dish with just a small taste). My brother, out of necessity, had to know his way around a kitchen (he?s great with steak). I didn?t really feel the need to grab my apron and go to town, save for the occasional apple pie.

On my own

However, all that changed when I started living on my own ? I wasn?t going to order take-out for the rest of my New York life. So, I would call my mother for a few well-loved recipes, and started cooking. I would invite a few of my friends over for a meal of adobo, chicken nilaga, or whatever came to mind.

When I got married, I used the skills even more. My husband has the metabolism of a racehorse (I hate him) so he can eat like nobody?s business (I really hate him). Besides the staples that I already knew, I had to expand my repertoire to include a few Japanese or Chinese-inspired dishes such as baked sea bass with sesame and ginger, oyako donburi (chicken with scrambled eggs atop steaming hot white rice), and Spam musubi (Spam sushi, which is incredibly addicting), and open myself up to the wonders of that sprinkled rice topping known as furikake (crushed toasted nori, sesame seeds and a smattering of bonito).

Fast forward to living in Manila. I hadn?t stepped anywhere near my stove since moving into my house a few years ago. Until last weekend, when my husband decided he had a craving for Eggs Benedict and sauteed potatoes, and that it would be a great idea to cook it ourselves. I got excited!

We downloaded a recipe from the Internet, then headed to gather our supplies: eggs, whole-wheat pan de sal (English muffins couldn?t be found, so we had to improvise), lemons, cayenne pepper, potatoes, onions, and a sturdy double boiler. Once home, we all got to work: the helpers were slicing and dicing, I was keeping a close eye on my Hollandaise sauce, and Rob was poaching eggs. No, our efforts didn?t yield the perfect Eggs Benedict, but we all had such a fantastic time putting the meal together. (I know for sure my Hollandaise will be perfect next time.)

Cooking again

This was the impetus I needed, that proverbial kick in the pants to start cooking again. Rob had a craving for tacos the next night ? and I wanted to make tapioca pudding for dessert. On our grocery run, we picked up a taco dinner kit and some lean ground beef. (The verdict: it was just okay? but those taco shells were very delicious.)

A tapioca pudding, when you read the recipe on the side of the box, seems easy enough: milk, a well-beaten egg, sugar, vanilla extract, and a few tablespoons of tapioca. However, for some strange reason, things weren?t turning out the way I planned. I had made this particular pudding before, and have never had a problem, but on this night, after I had poured the hot milky liquid into my serving dish, it didn?t congeal. Or as we said at home, it didn?t ?puddify.? Rob and I were scratching our heads as to why it looked more like eggnog with teeny tiny tapioca bits than a creamy dessert. However, since the effort had already been spent, we decided to just taste it. It turned out really delicious! It was warm and comforting, like being curled up on the couch with a soft fleece blanket on your lap.

I then handed a serving to Nicole. She had never tried tapioca pudding before, and I had no idea how she would take to it. After that first tentative spoonful, she kept eating, and eating. As if eating by herself at the table, she uttered the words: ?I love this! This is amazing!? That sent Rob and me into a major laughing fit! Oh, to hear my little one utter those words ? that sent me into mommy heaven. I made more pudding the following night, and I got the exact same reaction.

I?ve now made a promise to myself to spend at least a couple of nights a week over my hot stove. It?s cathartic, it?s therapeutic, but more than anything, it?s a great opportunity to show my love for my family. Simple or complicated, it?s all about love.