Day One: A Chicken Parmi, a Vanilla Sponge Cake, and Four and a Half Hours in the Kitchen

On trying something new, cooking for the people I love, and learning that good things take time.

If you've ever watched Julie & Julia, you'll understand the inspiration behind this little project of mine.

I've always loved the idea of documenting a journey through food… trying new recipes, learning as I go, making mistakes along the way, and writing about it all. So, I've decided to embark on my own little Julie & Julia-inspired adventure here on Written & Whisked.

The idea is simple: to write a little something every day. Sometimes, it might be about a recipe I've tried, something I've baked, or a new skill I'm learning. Other times, it might be a reflection on life, the people I love, or the little moments that make an ordinary day feel special.

I don't have a perfectly planned schedule or a kitchen full of professional equipment. I'm not a trained chef, and I'm certainly not claiming to know what I'm doing just yet. I'm simply someone who wants to learn, create, write, and share a little more of the everyday.

And what better way to begin than with a homemade chicken parmi, a vanilla sponge cake with strawberries, and nearly four and a half hours spent in the kitchen?

Last night, I decided to make both from scratch for the very first time. I was cooking for my boyfriend and his parents, IN THEIR KITCHEN might I add, and, in true ambitious fashion, I decided to film most of the process, too.

I quite quickly realised (or, more accurately, was told) that I probably needed a tripod. Thank you to my boyfriend, who very patiently held the camera and was incredibly supportive throughout the whole process. Every aspiring food blogger needs a willing camera operator, apparently. I'm very lucky to have mine.

Four and a half hours later, I had a kitchen that had definitely seen better days, a camera roll full of footage, and dinner and dessert to share with people I love.

Not a bad start to a little adventure, really.

The menu: chicken parmi and vanilla sponge cake

Now, I should probably explain why I thought making two things from scratch for my very first instalment was a good idea.

I'm not entirely sure, either.

Perhaps I was feeling ambitious. Perhaps I'd underestimated how long everything would take. Or perhaps I simply got carried away with the idea of creating a whole meal, from the main course right through to dessert.

Whatever the reason, chicken parmi and vanilla sponge cake with strawberries were on the menu.

The chicken parmi felt like a proper dinner to begin with. There's something satisfying about making a familiar comfort food yourself rather than simply ordering it at a restaurant. You get to be involved in every part of the process, from preparing the ingredients to putting everything together at the end.

And then, of course, there was dessert.

I've always thought there's something special about a homemade cake. Maybe it's the smell of it baking, the anticipation while it cools, or the little moment when you finally get to see how it turned out. A vanilla sponge with strawberries felt like a lovely way to finish the meal.

Of course, making a sponge cake for the first time comes with its own little element of suspense. Baking requires a certain amount of precision, and unlike some savoury dishes, you can't always get away with a little improvisation.

At least, that's what I'm learning.

I wanted everything to come together nicely, but I was also trying to film the process, remember what came next, and make sure I wasn't taking over someone else's entire kitchen in the process.

There was a lot happening.

First up: the chicken parmi

If there's one thing I learned while making the chicken parmi, it's that cooking isn't just about knowing how to make each individual component. It's about figuring out how to make everything come together at the right time.

And that, as it turns out, was the hardest part.

While the chicken was being prepared, I was simultaneously making the sauce, crumbing and dredging the chicken, and putting together a salad to serve alongside it. There were multiple things happening at once, and I quickly discovered that coordinating everything so it would be ready together was a skill in itself.

I was trying to keep track of what needed cooking, what needed preparing, and what needed my attention next. All while filming, of course.

Because apparently, making dinner wasn't quite enough of a challenge on its own.

But eventually, everything started coming together.

I fried the chicken first to get that lovely crispy crumb before transferring it to the oven to finish cooking. And when it finally came out, the crumb was crispy, the cheese was beautifully melted, and the chicken was juicy.

Add the sauce, and honestly? It tasted really good.

There's something particularly satisfying about taking a dish you might usually order at a restaurant and making it yourself from scratch. You get to appreciate all the little steps that go into creating something that, when it arrives at the table, looks so simple.

Would I make it again? Absolutely.

Would I be a little more organised next time? Also absolutely.

I'm beginning to think that one of the most important ingredients in cooking is timing. That, and perhaps a little less ambition when deciding how many things to make at once.

And then, there was cake

If the chicken parmi was a lesson in timing, the vanilla sponge cake was a lesson in patience.

I wanted to make a vanilla sponge cake with strawberries, something simple and pretty to finish the meal. There's something timeless about a sponge cake, and I loved the idea of making one completely from scratch.

Naturally, it didn't go entirely to plan.

The sponge itself had a bit of a difficult time cooking. I found myself waiting for it to bake properly, hoping it would turn out the way I'd imagined. Baking is a funny thing because, unlike cooking a savoury dish, you can't always adjust things as you go. Sometimes, you have to wait and see what happens.

And then there was the cream.

I may or may not have overwhipped it a little.

Let's just say I'm still learning.

But here's the thing: despite the little hiccups, the cake turned out beautifully.

I decorated it myself and added strawberries to the middle layer, which made it feel that little bit more special. And when it came time to try it, all the worrying over the sponge and the cream seemed rather unnecessary.

It tasted amazing.

Was it perfect? Perhaps not in the way a professional baker might define perfect. But it was homemade, it was made with care, and I was genuinely proud of how it turned out.

And I think that's worth celebrating.

There's a temptation, especially when you're documenting something for others to see, to want everything to look flawless. You want the beautiful finished product, the lovely photographs, and the satisfying feeling of having got everything right on the first attempt.

But that's not always how learning works.

Sometimes, the sponge takes longer than expected. Sometimes, you overwhip the cream. And sometimes, you end up with a cake that tastes wonderful despite everything you thought had gone wrong.

I'll take that as a win.

What four and a half hours taught me

Looking back, I think the biggest lesson from the evening was that making a meal is one thing, but bringing an entire meal together is another.

I can follow a recipe. I can prepare ingredients. I can make a sauce, cook chicken, and decorate a cake. But learning to coordinate everything, manage my time, and stay calm when several things need my attention at once is a skill I'll have to develop with practice.

The good news is that practice is precisely what this little project is about.

I'm not expecting to become an expert overnight. I'm not even expecting every recipe to turn out exactly as I imagined it. I'd rather learn to enjoy the process, become more confident in the kitchen, and gradually figure out what works for me.

And if that means a few overwhipped creams and slightly stressful afternoons along the way, so be it.

At least I'll have something to write about.

More importantly, I ended the evening with a crispy chicken parmi, a homemade strawberry sponge cake, and food to share with people I love.

For a first attempt, I think that's a pretty lovely place to start.

Four and a half hours, one camera, and a very patient boyfriend

Something I've already learned about filming food is that cooking and filming are two very different activities.

When you're just cooking, you can move from one step to the next without thinking too much about it. When you're filming, suddenly you're wondering whether you got the shot, whether the camera is pointing in the right direction, and whether anyone watching will actually be able to see what you're doing.

Sometimes, you have to stop what you're doing, reposition everything, and try again.

And sometimes, you realise that the shot you thought you captured is, in fact, a close-up of absolutely nothing useful.

I'm still figuring that part out.

I also discovered that cooking in someone else's kitchen adds a whole new dimension to the experience. You can't necessarily put things wherever you want, and you're trying to be mindful of the fact that this isn't your space. Add a camera to the mix, and suddenly a simple cooking session becomes a small production. I’m also not unfamiliar with their kitchen, but as I was trying to find little things, it became a game of hide-and-seek.

Next time, a tripod might be a worthwhile investment.

But despite the extra time, the filming, and the occasional moment of wondering what on earth I'd signed myself up for, I genuinely enjoyed the experience.

There's something lovely about slowing down and putting your attention into making something. In a world where we're so used to getting things quickly, spending an afternoon preparing a meal from scratch feels almost unusual.

You can't rush every step. You have to be present, pay attention, and let things happen in their own time.

And perhaps that's part of the appeal.

More than just a meal

The thing I keep coming back to is that I wasn't cooking just for myself.

I was making dinner for my boyfriend and his parents, and I wanted to make something they could enjoy. There's a particular kind of joy in preparing food for other people. It's a practical way of showing care, even if the meal isn't perfect and the kitchen ends up looking like a small disaster zone (maybe a big disaster zone…. whoops!).

You put time into something, and then you get to share it.

I think that's one of the reasons I want to learn more about cooking and baking. Food is something we need every day, but it can also be something that brings people together. A simple dinner can become an occasion. A cake can become a birthday tradition. A recipe can remind you of a person, a place, or a particular season of life.

And you don't need to be an exceptional cook to create those moments.

You just need to be willing to try.

I won't pretend that spending four and a half hours in the kitchen is going to become my preferred way of making dinner every evening. I suspect there will be plenty of quick meals and considerably less ambitious afternoons in my future.

But I'm glad I started here.

I'm glad I tried something new, even though it took longer than expected. I'm glad I made something to share. And I'm glad I have a little record of the experience to look back on — even if some of the footage turns out to be unusable.

What I learned on Day One

If this project is going to teach me anything, I suspect it will be patience.

Patience with new recipes. Patience with myself when things don't turn out quite as expected. Patience with the process of learning a skill that other people might make look effortless.

I also think I'm going to learn that not everything needs to be perfect to be worthwhile.

It's easy to imagine the finished product when you start something new. You picture the beautiful cake, the perfectly plated dinner, the lovely photographs, and the finished blog post. You don't always picture the messy bench, the extra washing-up, or the fact that filming a recipe takes considerably longer than cooking it alone.

But those things are part of the experience, too.

And if I'm going to write about this journey honestly, I want to include the imperfect parts alongside the beautiful ones.

I want to document the recipes that work, the ones that need a little more practice, and the things I discover along the way. I want to get better at cooking, better at baking, and better at telling the stories that happen in between.

Perhaps, a few months from now, I'll look back at this first post and laugh at how much I still had to learn.

I hope I do.

Because that would mean I've kept going.

Here's to Day One

So, here we are. One chicken parmi, one vanilla sponge cake with strawberries, four and a half hours in the kitchen, and the beginning of a little project I've been excited to start.

I don't know exactly what the next post will look like. Perhaps I'll try another recipe. Perhaps I'll bake something I've always wanted to make. Perhaps I'll have a day where nothing goes to plan and the only thing worth writing about is what went wrong.

Whatever happens, I want this space to be somewhere I can experiment, create, and share the little things that make up everyday life.

Because life isn't always made up of grand adventures or extraordinary occasions. Sometimes, it's an afternoon in the kitchen, a recipe you've never tried, a patient boyfriend holding a camera, and a meal shared with people you love.

And sometimes, that's more than enough.

Here's to trying new things, making a mess, learning as we go, and finding joy in the ordinary.

Day One: complete.

Now, if you'll excuse me, I think I've earned a little rest before deciding what to cook next.

Until tomorrow,

Chatty 🤍

Founder of Written & Whisked