I don’t have “knife skills.” (And that’s OK.)

A few years ago, I was watching a cooking competition show on the Food Network where celebrity chefs were judging the contestant’s performances in timed demonstrations. (I can’t remember which one, because I watch a lot of cooking competition shows on the Food Network.)

At one point, Iron Chef Masaharu Morimoto – one of the judges – furrowed his brow, gave a contestant a stern look and said, with a heavy accent, “You have no knife skills!”

Knife skills. It was the first time I’d really considered that term. Up until that second, I’d thought of the things I do with a knife in terms of cutting or slicing or mincing or, occasionally, chopping. I had always judged my success by a) whether or not said item ended up in smaller pieces than it started out, and b) whether I’d managed to pull off that feat without cutting myself.

But I had to be honest with myself: Knife skills, I did not have.

In the ensuing years, I’ve paid more attention to honing my cutting abilities. While back then I had basic safety under control (my mom taught me early how to peel and pare against my thumb and curl my fingers under to protect them while slicing), I wasn’t exactly sure what distinguished a dice from a chop, and was utterly mystified by how to break an onion down into small, uniform cubes.

I’ve made some progress since. I can more or less manage an onion (though truthfully, I usually leave them in large pieces because it’s easier and that way my kids can pick them out.) I have learned how to work around a tomato core. And I’ve learned to love the phrase “rough chop.”

But I’m still unsure which knife to choose for some jobs. I still have a hard time dicing into uniform pieces. I still make a mess of tomatoes. And I still don’t have  what any reasonable person would deem “knife skills.”

And you know what? That doesn’t stop me from cutting up food to cook for my family.

Here’s the thing: most of us aren’t chefs. Yes, there are those for whom cooking is an artistic expression, a passionate hobby, or even a profession.

And then there are the rest of us: those regular folk who just need to eat and feed other people. And for us, getting dinner on the table doesn’t have to be a demonstration of our art and training. For us, cooking can simply be an act of necessity and nurturing.

We figure out work-arounds*; we do the best we can. We learn as we go, and don’t let our lack of competition-level skills keep us from doing what other untrained, un-knife-skills-having human beings have done since somebody figured out how to roast a carcass over a fire: cook food for ourselves and the people we love.

In fact, I have to say I like it better when I cut up potatoes unevenly! I think it gives them a delightful textural irregularity. Some are crunchy, some very soft…mmm, it’s all good.

At the end of the day no one meal makes or breaks me as a home cook. I don’t have to be an artist or a pro, and if I screw up, I can always try again tomorrow. What matters is that I do try again tomorrow, knife skills or no.

I’d love to hear about the ways you’re less-than-perfect in the kitchen – and why you won’t let that stop you from cooking. Do you, like me, lack in the “knife skills” department? Or another area? Have you come up with your own work-arounds?

*One of my biggest work-arounds? I almost always either slice, rough chop, or crush garlic, rather than mince it. I find that I am much more likely to burn garlic when it’s minced really small, and I have a hard time getting the pieces even-sized. If it’s a dish where bigger chunks of garlic would be unwelcome, I crush it and use an extra clove or two for more flavor, then fish out the cloves when they’re done cooking so none of the kids end up with a full garlic clove in their food. So far my garlic-flavored food tastes plenty garlicky, and I’ve gotten no complaints!