If it weren’t for the thought of warm muffins or salty eggs in the morning, I don’t think I’d ever get out of bed. During the excruciating three quarters of my second year, when I had class at 7 each morning, my only hope of making it to class on time was to tempt myself by baking coconut muffins, blueberry scones or banana bread the night before.

Away from the well-stocked fridge of my mother’s house, I have learned how to eat well and not spend my entire allowance on extravagant meals. I learned young, too. My freshman year, when all the boys in the dorms were eating those microwavable chimichangas (Lord help me; if I smell one of those ever again, I might lose my mind), I tried a different route.

I once heard that women think the sexiest thing a man can do is cook. No, not sport a nice set of abs, rescue someone from a burning building or show off his keen sense of humor. Ladies want a man who knows his way around the kitchen, not just to the cereal aisle in the market.

If there’s one thing I love more than eating, it’s talking about food. And I don’t just mean like, “Oh, that’s yummy.” I’m talking full-on, in-depth discussions on the contrasting textures of a well-made Reese’s Peanut Butter Cup to hour-long debates on whether Tom Keller’s Ad Hoc restaurant is a true expression of his talent.