I’m an enthusiastic cook.

That’s what I told someone recently when she asked if I was a good cook. I feel like good cooks are people who cook well consistently; they master recipes, they don’t make silly mistakes, and they keep their kitchens clean.

I’m messy, I make some truly ridiculous mistakes, and though I have a few recipes that have become permanent fixtures in my repertoire, I don’t think I’ve mastered any.

When I did a brief stint in musical theatre, I was told on the first day that what a musical theatre actor lacks in talent, she can make up with enthusiasm. I think the same thing goes with cooking. I have always been willing to try cooking anything. My mom came home from work one day to find me making chocolate eclairs with a makeshift pastry bag that lacked a proper tip. My dad watched from a distance the day I decided to make funnel cakes and wore swim goggles to shield my eyes from spattering grease. I attempted caramel at age 13, cooked my first Thanksgiving dinner at age 10, and even if I can’t claim being a good cook, I will at least say I’ve got gumption, and that counts for something.

I’ve tried to channel that gumption to other parts of my life, especially in the past year when I’ve started dancing.

My parents enrolled me in ballet when I was five years old. There were maybe ten of us in the class, and at the beginning of every class, the teacher chose one girl to wear the special pink tutu. Every week, as class began, I held my breath and waited for my name to be called. And every week, I was disappointed. Finally, after I got upset enough, my mom bought me a blue tutu of my very own. Lo and behold, on the last day of ballet, my name was called. I was the little hot mess dancing in two tutus.

Now, as an adult, I can imagine that she was possibly going in alphabetical order, and since my last name starts with an S, it likely didn’t mean that she hated me and that I should vow never to take another dance class. But back then, when I was five, I quit dance.

I want to be Gene Kelly, just a little | amazon.com

Only when I entered my twenties did I start feeling the dance bug again. I watched musicals and longed to be that kind of dancer. Remember that gumption I mentioned? And that brief stint in musical theatre? When I was in that musical theatre class, and had not taken a dance class since I was five, I decided I could learn the Moses Supposes¯ routine from Singin’ in the Rain. (The phrase “blind ambition”¯ comes to mind.) Needless to say, that didn’t work. I can do a lovely shuffle-ball change, but that’s about it.

I’ve now been taking dance classes for a little over a year – tap, salsa, and bachata – and so far, there haven’t been any tutu fiascos to deter me.

This weekend, I felt that old-time blind ambition rising up. I attempted my first Afro-Cuban dance class at The Mambo Room. I also attempted making cheese.

First, the dance class. Whenever I watch “So You Think You Can Dance,”¯ and they do Bollywood numbers, and the dancers, out of exuberance or nervousness or cluelessness, unapologetically laugh about messing up all the hand movements, I cringe a little. They’re not trying to be malicious, but it’s a tad disrespectful. Those hand movements mean something; they’re part of a culture, and dance is used to express something that is deep and spiritual; the dancer, therefore, is responsible for honoring that tradition. The same is the case with Afro-Cuban. The style of dance is entirely new to me, as is the culture. Luckily for me, the instructor is amazing and put me at ease right away. Once I got over being nervous and trying not to mess up, I had a blast. I learned a lot about the style and the ways that the spiritual aspects transcend culture, race, and gender. I was sore and sweaty, but I felt great.

One thing I would recommend:  if you intend to make cheese on the regular (as I do), invest in a nice cheesecloth. The kind you find in the grocery store is flimsy, thin, and you’ll likely end up with a mess of cheesy-goop cloth. Invest in a nicer set, maybe from Williams-Sonoma, that’s got a bit more substance.

Go forth, CSAcationers:  go to buy cheesecloth, dance new dances, cook new recipes, be blindly ambitious.

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