I am not a chef.
If there’s one thing you should know about me, it’s that.
Cooking seems to be a talent learned when a child and I seemed to missed. It’s not that my parents never wanted to teach me, it’s more like I never saw cooking as entertaining enough to attempt more than once or twice. In fact, as a kid I even remember having the most amazing Alphabet cook book, with a fun recipe for every letter and I’m fairly certain I made one dessert from never looked at it again. After all, cooking didn’t seem that important. My parents made my meals so why waste my time with it?
Unfortunately, it wasn’t until I moved out on my own for the first time that I realized my crushing disability. Right after high school I got my first apartment and my initial dose of reality. I thought I had prepared myself to be an adult: if you have enough money to afford the rent and bills, what else is there to worry about? Turns out consistent meals are pretty important.
Don’t get me wrong, I’m not completely inadequate when it comes to meal preparation. To specify, there are a few things I’m pretty pro at:
- Cereal. Yup, I can pour milk like a champion, no spills or anything. I’ve even been known to toss a slice of bread into the toaster… Impressed yet?
- Eggs. Well, let me be more specific: Scrambled eggs. However, finding that perfect moment to stop cooking the eggs has proved challenging (and I’ve had my fair share of both over cooked, and questionably under cooked eggs). As for fried eggs…well you can just forget it.
- Anything Microwavable. Okay, ALMOST anything microwavable. Let’s just say I once decided to microwave some taquitos for a little longer than the box recommended…like twice as long. If it wasn’t for my roommate smelling something burning and noticing the smoke from the microwave, there’s a very good chance the building would have burnt down. Since then, I’ve been pretty good about carefully reading directions. Who knew they would be so informative?
I moved to San Diego from Colorado last summer and was pummeled with the reality of not having parents to feed me whenever I didn’t want fast food or a burnt meal. I’ve been fortunate in mostly having roommates aware of the fundamentals of cooking, but as a growing adult, I figured it’s about time I learned for myself. Since the move, I have begun training myself how to cook pasta.
Was I excited the first time I made a full meal with pasta? Absolutely, I was! After all, boiling pasta and heating up sauce is an incredible feat for someone who is seemingly incapable of heating up rolled tacos. I saw a light in that penne pasta…maybe I COULD cook, albeit with the simplest of cooking directions. Rest assured, my new roommate is an excellent chef, and given enough motivation and training from her I may one day attain the skills to make Thanksgiving dinner.
But let’s not get our hopes up for this year…