Cross-Training in the Kitchen

She’d tell you how to make chicken casserole but "forget" to mention the chicken. 

That’s how I described my mother. At her funeral. I said nice things about her too, of course, but this brought the most smiles to the pews. We all knew the woman was stingy with a recipe. 

When I’d ask her how to make a favorite dish she’d say, “I’ll make it for you.” I felt bold once and replied, “When you’re dead and gone, don’t you want us to make your recipes and lovingly think about you?” She simply smiled, unfazed and unpersuaded. 

A few years later when she had terminal cancer and knew the end was coming sooner than later, I summoned her to my kitchen with all the makings of a roast. Finally, I thought, I have her cornered; she’ll have to come clean. As I seared the beef in my grandmother’s cast-iron skillet, Mama scanned the back of the shameful seasoning packet I’d bought in desperation. Like a purr she said, “I think this is how I do it.” Lies. That day was not the first time I had underestimated her resolve. And I still can’t make a good roast to save my life.

In spite of her though, anytime my girls ask for a recipe, I give it to them. I figure if they like it enough to want to make it themselves, I should be gracious with the directions. 

I got fancy a few Christmases ago and started making pickled red onions and had gotten in the habit of sending an occasional container to one of the girls. But my supply wasn’t keeping up with her demand, so she asked me for the recipe, which I sent. She hates cooking so I didn’t think anything would come of it until this weekend when she sent me a picture of a pretty jar of onions she’d pickled herself. She added a caption: teach a girl to fish.

I have to say I was proud. But between that and her sister’s perfect macaroni and cheese, I was also helping myself out of a job. Maybe my mother knew what she was doing by holding on so tightly to her gifts. She would forever be needed.

Have you ever worked with someone who is so concerned about their job security that they become a rigid gatekeeper of a crucial skill or piece of information? Maybe someone on your team wants to be the expert at X to ensure they’re always needed? If you haven’t worked with someone like that, could you be the stingy one? 

Some people aren’t open to sharing what they know at the risk of being replaced or pushed to the side, so I did a little self-reflection. You know, it does feel good to be needed. I like being the go-to person on the team. But what I’ve found that feels even better is shifting the energy outward to my team (instead of pulling it toward me). When collaboration truly works, we each bring something to the table and pursue a common goal. The pressure, responsibility, fame, and blame are shared—and so are solutions. I once heard someone describe this as a “collective success.” I like that term.

Cross-training can make a difference here, especially for thin teams whose members are required to carry out multiple roles. But even if you would never perform someone else’s tasks or if deadlines are too tight for true cross-training, understanding your team members’ roles and responsibilities can give you an appreciation for what they do. It can also help identify areas of impact for stakeholders. That awareness can make the difference between a highly functioning team and a team in name only.

Back to my mother. She wasn’t tight-lipped about her recipes to be selfish. Cooking for others was how she showed love. Looking back, I believe her love language was Acts of Service, which I share with her. 

But I’ve also come to realize that being needed isn’t the same as being valued. Not being needed to make food or to do a thing doesn’t mean I’m not valued. It simply means someone else can shred the cheese from now on while I set the table. I’m for that.

This Easter we had her asparagus, her chocolate éclair dessert, and her potato salad (which is actually her mother's). They didn't turn out the same; they never do. But we keep trying, and we smile and enjoy the priceless memories.

Thank you for reading. (Please send recipes.)