June 22, 2009

The Great Cooking Powers That (cannot) Be...

When I was growing up, I never had to cook.  My dad made breakfast every morning.  My favorite was probably the bacon, egg and cheese sandwiches, with the yoke slightly runny.  I lived for sopping up the left-over yoke with another piece of toast.  I ate lunch at school.  When we got home my dad would ask, "Whadjuaeat?" which, if you don't speak Southern, means, "What did you eat for lunch, so that I don't cook the same thing for dinner tonight."  

At the time I whined because I had to eat green beans and deer meat and fried okra and catfish and salad and hordes of other things my dad just threw together.  He tended to make up everything as he went.  And even if it was disgusting he would say, "Damn, that's nasty!", which really meant, "Ain't that good?"  Then he would get offended if you told him the truth, which of course I always did.

Now I'd do anything for the green beans and the egg sandwiches (hold the bacon), as long as someone cooks it for me.  I haven't lived at home for four years, and this cooking this still hasn't settled in yet.  

Demonstration:

Lately I've been transitioning into vegetarianism.  It isn't really hard since I've only eaten poultry (for the most part) since my junior year in high school, and since I've always eaten tofu and veggie burgers and meatless chicken nuggets (which rock, by the way).

Yesterday I was starving.  My roommate made some salsa cheese dip... with beef.  I was on my own.  I dug through the cabinets and found a box of falafel mix.  I always read the directions before attempting to make something, because if it takes longer than 20 minutes I don't even want to bother.  I'm hungry NOW.  

The falafel mix was prepared (since all you do is add water and roll them) and the oil was hot.  All seemed fine and dandy.  I threw the balls in.  SIZZLE

I was so impressed with myself I even sent a picture to Twitter, showing the world my accomplishments:



Then something went wrong.  The smaller balls started to disappear.  Vaporize.  Actually, they just fell apart in the oil.  A catastrophe of pan-sized proportions.  My glorious, grainy, spicy balls (yeah, spicy balls) turned into an oily, sizzling soup.


Source of the disaster: UNKNOWN.  I probably didn't mix it correctly, or didn't let the oil get hot enough, or maybe I wasn't holding my mouth right while stirring the mix in the wrong direction.  Who the fuck knows...?

I was absolutely distraught.  This is almost as bad as burning Ramen.  Well... not quite.  But equally upsetting and unsatisfying to my still rumbling tummy.

I did manage to save a few balls, buy they were too squishy to eat.  I settled for two turkey dogs instead.  I cheated on the veggie attempt, but desperate times call for overly-processed poultry dripping in ranch.

Will I be THAT person who eats out every day and keeps sweaters in my stove?  I used to look down on that idea.  Only incopotent, wasteful and lazy people would spend that much money every day on food, when all you have to do is learn to cook.  But these days the idea doesn't seen so bad.  Not only is the food far better than anything I could ever dream of making, but I tend to get it faster, too.  If I want to cook something good it takes forever.  Then I have to clean afterwards.  Dishes are not my friend.  In fact, I hate them.  Quite literally. 

In conclusion, fuck cooking.  I'm not good at it and probably never will be.  I'll walk downtown and buy a veggie burger and tater tots any day of the week.  

In fact, I'm going right now.


1 comment:

  1. Don't let society shame you into thinking there is something wrong with dining out! ;)

    I can't cook either, so you're not alone! But, if you're like me, you can order take-out like nobody's business!

    P.S. If Carrie Bradshaw can keep sweaters in the stove, then who are we to judge? :)

    ReplyDelete

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