The big uncookable sections of who we are, they’re the ones I love to taste the most

A quiet love letter to what refuses to be fixed

The big uncookable sections of who we are, they’re the ones I love to taste the most. Not because they are easy. Not because they are polished. But because they are honest.

We spend so much time trying to soften ourselves—learning what to hide, what to edit, what to explain away. But there are parts of us that do not respond to heat. They don’t become better with refinement. They only become quieter.

And those are the parts that matter most.

The uncookable parts look like:

• The emotions that don’t arrive on schedule
• The truths that make conversations uncomfortable
• The habits we never quite learned to outgrow
• The contradictions we carry without apology
• The tenderness we protect by calling it “too much”
• The silence that says more than rehearsed words

These pieces aren’t flaws. They’re evidence of being alive.

To love someone—or to finally stop being at war with yourself—is to sit with what cannot be refined and decide it is still worthy of presence, patience, and care.

Because what is raw still has flavor. What is unfinished still has meaning. And what is uncookable is often where the truth lives.