These days, living alone in New York, even if I go out and buy food because I'm hungry, my monthly credit card statement comes flying in like a knife.

A bowl of pasta costs $24, a beer is $9, and with tips, it easily adds up to $40.

It's not just a meal or two; if this goes on for a week? It's not just money; my mental state is drained.

So, the choice I made was to cook. At first, it wasn't intentional or stylish. I just realized that cooking was the answer after crunching some numbers.

But it's quite amazing. The thing I started to survive is now starting to save me.

By shopping for groceries and cooking for myself, I save at least $400 a month.

Especially if I replace lunch with a packed meal from home, the difference is noticeable.

Even cooking just three times a week, I can visibly save money based on New York's cost of living.

To summarize in one line:

Cooking = Saving + Healing + Self-Satisfaction

How often can you find a hobby that covers all three?

Of course, it wasn't easy at first.

I cried while chopping onions, and half of the pasta was undercooked while the other half was overcooked and couldn't survive.

On days when I thought I was grilling meat, I ended up boiling it, and there were times I mistakenly added sugar instead of salt.

But as I kept at it, my hands got used to it. Now, just hearing the sound of steak sizzling makes me feel at ease.

When I heat the pan and drop a piece of butter, the sound of it melting feels like it's warming up and blowing away my stress for the day.

The warmth that can't be filled by the heater in winter is created in the kitchen. For those living alone, food is like a confirmation of existence.

When I'm cooking, the world seems to pause for a moment.

At work, typing emails frantically, boiling over in meetings, and commuting while smelling people on the subway makes the day exhausting, but when I come home and chop vegetables and simmer sauce, my mind strangely calms down.

It feels like creating my own quiet space in the noisy New York.

And surprisingly, there's a sense of pride.

When I plate the food nicely and take a picture, even when eating alone, I feel like I'm living a pretty good life.

Even if no one says it's amazing, I find satisfaction within myself.

A man who cooks well = A man who eats well → A man who feels good

This formula is real.

When friends come over and say, "You made this?" I can't help but smile.

Cooking for a partner needs no further explanation. Adding love to a plate of pasta is a bonus.

The saying that food is about the feeling rather than the taste, I finally understand now.

In fact, New York is a city where it's easy to feel lonely. Competition and speed are the default, and everyone is busy.

That's why the smell of soup simmering slowly is even more necessary.

As I pour oil into the pan and stir-fry the green onions, my hurried and comparing heart gradually relaxes.

Cooking is a pause in life, a moment of rest.

It took me until I was thirty-six to realize.

Learning to cook is not just about acquiring skills; it's about gaining the ability to make oneself happy.