Every truly unforgettable dish I’ve ever eaten took time. Not “thirty minutes or less time”. I’m talking about dishes that marinate, tenderize, simmer, rest, and then—just when you think they’re done—get cooked again. Because greatness is rarely one-and-done. Greatness requires commitment. Sometimes overnight refrigeration. Sometimes a second pot.

Think Mukimo. Doro Wat. Moroccan Tagine. Egusi Soup. Thieboudienne. Bobotie.
Yes, I am very intentionally naming African dishes, because African food understands patience, layers, and blind faith in the process. You don’t rush ancestors. You don’t argue with recipes that start with “leave it overnight.” Also, by the end of this post, I fully expect you to be Googling where to find at least one of these dishes. Don’t fight it. Stay with me.

Recently, I realized something about myself: I love talking to women who are seasons ahead of me. Not one step ahead. Not a few year older than me. I mean two to three full chapters ahead, footnotes included. Right now, for example, I am borderline obsessed with retirement.

Retirement.

If I meet someone who is retired, I am immediately interviewing them like I’m writing a dissertation. How did you save? Did you help your kids through college or simply say “Godspeed and good credit”? Did you downsize or keep the house and just upgrade appliances? Are you traveling—where? Do your knees hurt? Be honest. Do you have a hobby, or is walking your neighborhood technically the hobby? …and most importantly—are you still married? And do you still like each other, or are you just being polite until one of you goes…?

This has always been me. In high school, I was fascinated by married women. (How did you pick him? Was there a rubric? A trial period?) In college, I was side-eyeing moms like, so… do you actually like your kids, or is this a long con I should opt out of? When I started working, I was mesmerized by the minivan moms with color-coded schedules, folding chairs in the trunk, and snacks that appeared out of thin air like loaves and fishes. When I had kids, I locked in on the moms sending teenagers off to college—because that looked like the real finish line.

So why am I always seasons ahead?

Because a good dish takes time to season. Seasoning isn’t just salt and pepper with something green sprinkled on top so it looks intentional. It’s layers. It’s marinating long enough for the flavor to actually enter the chat. It’s low heat. It’s patience. It’s trusting that time is doing something important even when nothing seems to be happening.

I want to give myself time to marinate in wisdom—the good advice and the cautionary tales. Because one honest conversation with someone who has lived it will teach you what ten self-help books, a podcast, and a vision board never could. Personal mentorship has a kind of depth that formal education simply does not. Syllabi are cute. Lived experience hits harder.

And here’s the part we forget as people—especially women who expect excellence from ourselves immediately: If the most memorable dishes take hours or days, why are we so cruel to ourselves for not being “done” yet? Maturation takes time. Aging, tenderizing, settling—these are real processes. In food and in life. Flavor develops slowly. Texture changes with patience. Depth cannot be rushed without ruining the whole thing.

Think about it:

• Fermentation transforms simple ingredients into something complex. (Marriage & pregnancy—Shocking)
• Pounding breaks things down so they can come together better. (Newborns and toddlers. Absolutely feral.)
• Slow-cooking turns tough cuts into something rich and nourishing. (Those teenage years—whew.)

So why am I talking about cooking and maturing at the same time?

Because recently, I accepted that I actually have to cook.
Yes. Literally. Spiritually. Existentially.

I’m giving myself time to learn these dishes—but also time to learn what feeding myself, my family, and my future grandchildren. I’m seasoning now for a future I still want: A marriage that lasts. Children who are successful and married if they choose. And me—patiently, joyfully waiting on grandchildren… with a well-seasoned kitchen and an even better life.

Because nothing worth savoring is rushed.
And baby, I plan to be delicious for decades.

Always Have, Always Will ~ Kalie