I would say Mom and Dad. They were not exceptional chefs. But both of them could navigate themselves about a kitchen. My sister and I were never actaully taught anything about cooking. We just wanted to be with our parents and so we hung out where they were. On Sundays and holidays that was in the kitchen. Even as tadpoles we wanted to help and so they let us, although I doubt when we were young we helped very much. But they praised us and let us do what we wanted.
Later on, when we ten or so, we started to cook ourselves. Mostly breakfasts on weekends - lots of pancakes - when the folks were still asleep and we were looking for something to do.
For some reason our parents trusted us in the kitchen and we took advantage of it, even having other kids in for breakfast.
Then we went on a French fry jag when we were twelve or so. Our ever patient Mom (Dad would be at work) would let us make the fries after school.
And then came other jags and Mom was fully supportive, which means she would buy the stuff but basically kept herself out of the procedure, letting us make our own mistakes and learn as a result.
That in essence was the way we were raised. They were there to help and guide us, and when push came to shove they were the ultimate law. But help they certainly did, I cannot tell you how many hours it took Dad to get me to understand algebra, but as long as we were doing OK they did not interfere.
Myabe they had learned that policy by raising our much older two brothers. Or perhaps it was just their inherent wisdom, I do not know. I do know I miss them.
But when in my life the poop seems to be hitting the rotating mechanical device, I sit back and ask myself 'What would the folks say?'. That process has helped me through a whole bunch of messes. I guess no one is never truly gone as long as their wisdom lives on.
As I got older it was people like Julia, Graham Kerr, and the Frug who fueled my love of the kitchen.
That's my simple tale.