My formative years in the kitchen make up the era I like to call “cooking B.S.,” or cooking before scale. And that’s the almighty kitchen scale because those years—excuse my language—were a load of B.S. They involved me slowly dripping honey into a 1 cup measure only to have a quarter of it get stuck inside, and tightly packing as much flour into that same cup because at the time, I was unaware of the spooning and leveling trick. Every time, I settled for bone-dry cake doorstops and a giant trove of dirty cups and spoons.

The years before I started using a kitchen scale were filled with questionable bakes, too many dishes, and great source material for a cooking show rife with disasters (Netflix, call me). Once I saw the light though, everything improved tenfold. Now, my scale is a countertop fixture I use at least once a day from measuring dry ingredients for a cake to prepping a cold brew latte, or even portioning out peanut butter powder for a smoothie. If I’m having people over, I can throw together a big bowl of party mix that follows a golden ratio of ruffled chips, pretzels, and kettle corn. And nothing compares to a friend’s compliment about the delicious cocktail I oh-so-effortlessly whipped up. My answer every time they ask why it’s so good? Simple: I measured everything out on my kitchen scale.