Picture this: a steaming bowl of pumpkin soup, velvety and fragrant, its golden hue punctuated by a drizzle of infused oil and a scattering of crispy, toasted bread cubes. My wife took a spoonful, paused, and looked at me with that mix of surprise and delight you hope for when you cook for someone you love. “This year,” she said, “your vegetable soups taste even better than last year—what did you change?” I didn’t have an answer right away. I spooned through the soup myself, savoring the way the flavors danced—bright, earthy, a little spicy—and then it hit me. “I stopped following recipes,” I said. “I started making my own.” And just like that, I realized I’d stumbled into a culinary breakthrough: intuitive cooking.

For years, I’d been a recipe follower, especially when it came to my annual pumpkin soup ritual. Every fall, as the leaves turned and the air grew crisp, I’d dig through cookbooks or scroll endlessly online for the pumpkin soup recipe. The result? A soup that was fine—sometimes good, even—but never great. And definitely never consistent. One time it’d be too watery, the next too bland, and once, memorably, it tasted like I’d accidentally pureed a pumpkin pie. I was chasing someone else’s vision instead of trusting my own true north.

This year, though, something shifted. I decided to stop outsourcing my creativity to a stranger’s ingredient list and lean into what I’m calling “intuitive cooking.” Now, don’t get me wrong—this isn’t some free-for-all where I’m tossing random spices into a pot like a mad scientist (though I’ve had my share of kitchen disasters that way). Intuitive cooking, for me, is about letting go of rigid recipes and embracing guiding principles instead. It’s cooking with intention, instinct, and a little bit of know-how—think of it as the difference between following a GPS and navigating by the stars.

Follow Principles, Not Recipes

Take that pumpkin soup. Over the years, I’d picked up nuggets of wisdom from chefs I’ve chatted with over glasses of wine and from my mum, who’s been simmering soups since before I could hold a spoon. They all seemed to circle back to the same loose framework: start with a star vegetable (hello, pumpkin), bring in a supporting cast (think celery root, carrots, onions, maybe a parsley root if I’m feeling fancy), and give them a quick sauté to wake up their flavors. Then, in goes the liquid—water with a stock cube or a homemade vegetable broth if I’ve got it—followed by a simmer until everything’s tender. From there, it’s a playground: spices that play up the pumpkin’s natural sweetness (nutmeg, a whisper of cinnamon, or a kick of smoked chili), a whirl with the immersion blender, and a splash of heavy cream or coconut milk for that silky finish. Taste, tweak—more salt? A squeeze of lemon for brightness?—and crown it with toppings that add texture and flair: toasted bread cubes, a crackle of deep-fried sage, a swirl of chili oil. Done.

What’s magical about this approach is its versatility. That same blueprint can spin out a roasted cauliflower soup with turmeric and crispy chickpeas, a velvety leek and potato number with a garlicky crouton crunch, or a zingy carrot-ginger bowl topped with toasted sesame seeds. I’d wager you could build 500 soups this way, each one distinct, each one delicious. And it’s not just soups—those guiding principles translate anywhere. Roasting a chicken? Pick your hero (the bird), season it with intention (herbs, citrus, spice), and let the oven do the rest. Crafting a pasta dish? Choose a base (say, spaghetti), pair it with a sauce that sings (garlic, olive oil, chili flakes), and finish with a flourish (Parmesan, fresh basil). It’s a framework, not a formula.

Recipes are fine, but they’re someone else’s story. Principles let you write your own. You don’t need to be a pro—just curious enough to try, and willing to taste as you go. Pay attention to what works: the way rosemary lifts a root vegetable, how a pinch of smoked paprika transforms a broth, or why a hit of acidity can save a dish from flatness. Part of the principle is knowing your craft—like how to sauté veggies just right, coaxing out those golden, nutty browning flavors, or searing meat to lock in that rich, caramelized crust.

For anyone who loves a good meal, this is your green light to ditch the script. My pumpkin soup isn’t just soup anymore—it’s me figuring out what works, one pot at a time. So grab a spoon, trust your gut, and see what happens. You might just end up with something delicious—and a story to go with it.