Foster mother and father taught me the basics of how to cook. Pressure cooked corn beef and cabbage, stew, grits, baked potatoes, cakes, pies, etc...all from scratch. Foster parents were good Southern Folk. Combined with the diversity of the area we lived in proved to be an excellent foundation for me to develop good cooking skills.
I guess I started experimenting a year or two after my foster father passed on. While my foster mother loved the plain and simple, I discovered ways to invoke slight changes to bring the dish out more than it was. Heh, I remember the time she tasted my chicken stew with additions of roasted garlic, celery, a touch of olive oil and green onions for the first time. She was so skeptical about trying the concoction yet she cleaned her first helping and another big ladle full.
I'd be lying if I told everyone that after that point in time she wasn't disappointed in my 'wild creations', as she called them. I can honestly say that she was quite eager to try each of the concoctions presented before her at every meal. If memory serves me right, I only disappointed her twice.