A friend called me today to share his thoughts on what I should do to kickstart my business and how I could speed things up. He shared his ideas, and I told him I understood, but I was thinking along different lines. His response: “Balázs, I’m sure you’ll make it work your way, too.”

BUT!

“But it matters how much time it takes!” Hm. I get it. So, once again, it’s about time.

This conversation reminded me of a story:

Back in the early ’90s, when I first moved to Pécs during my university years, I somehow ended up at a Zepter demonstration. I can’t remember who suggested we go, but I do recall there was food at the end of it—those were lean years, and we appreciated anything like that.

I remember this occasion well because, at the end of the event, I won the grand prize: a stainless steel tray. Even one of my friends in hospitality praised how great it was. But back to the point. At this event, they also introduced a pressure cooker. The presenter, an expert, explained its capabilities, saying: “You can cook pig’s feet stew in just 30 minutes in this.”

Wow.

My mother used to cook it for a good three hours when I was a kid. That’s impressive. But what does a stew cooked in 30 minutes taste like? Surely, the meat would be tender. But what about the flavors? Can the richness and depth that make you want to sop up every last drop with bread develop in such a short time? Can it leave your fingers sticky with goodness, like you’ve been kneading resin?

I looked it up online. The essence of a pressure cooker is that it seals the pot, increasing the internal pressure. This allows the water’s boiling point to rise above 100°C, reaching up to 120-130°C. Such high temperatures speed up the cooking process, making the meat tender faster. While flavors come together quickly, the depth of aromas doesn’t develop as much as it does during longer cooking times. By contrast, with dishes cooked over a fire, the long cooking time allows the meat and added spices or vegetables to blend, creating rich, deep flavors. The meat fibers break down beautifully, giving the dish a soft, luxurious texture.

So, should we buy a pressure cooker because it saves 2.5 hours and maybe uses less energy, making it cheaper? And yes, the meat will be tender. That’s fine. Oh, but the flavors aren’t quite the same as when your mom or grandma made it? Just add some flavor enhancers or stronger spices. And if the texture isn’t perfect? Well, there are plenty of marinades and texture modifiers to fix that.

So, while we optimize the cooking time of our meals, we load them with unnecessary things to recreate the feeling of “This is it!”

But it’s not.

And in gaining 2.5 hours, we lose everything we loved about the process. Being in the kitchen together, talking while occasionally tasting the simmering dish to see if it’s ready. The time spent cooking brought us together, kept our food clean, and, in a way, kept us clean too.

How long has this time-optimized life been shaping our decisions? When did it silently weave itself into our daily lives? When did time and time-based efficiency become more important than the original purpose of what we were doing?

Can time be so important that, as we optimize everything for it, the pressure we live under not only feels natural but perhaps even necessary?

Sure, under increasing pressure, things soften quickly. But the result is flavorless and unsatisfying. And to improve it, we add “extras”—whatever works for each of us—hoping to catch a hint of grandma’s stew somewhere deep on our palate.

But no. It’s not the same.

Of course, you can get used to it. People adapt easily. But why should you, if you don’t have to? Because you don’t. And how liberating it is to release the steam…

Back to the original thought: we’ll see what I can cook up without pressure—not in 30 minutes, but in 3 hours.

I’ll let you know.

The article was originally published on the vendler.hu blog.