Cooking

I fucking suck at cooking.

I mean, it's seriously terrible.  I often wonder if there's such a disorder that makes it impossible for someone to cook (like CADD).  If there's a disorder when it comes to cooking, I've got it.  I once burned my fingers and ruined a pot while baking muffins.  Not in the oven as you may expect.  Honestly, if I burned them in the oven, it would be no big thing, I would wear it like a badge of honour.  Nope, I burned my fingers and ruined a pot after I "boiled" the first four ingredients, just like the recipe said to do.  Turns out it was a misprint and, because I am such an incompetent baker, I did not realize that it should have said "mix" not boil.  Of all the recipes in the world.

I have since learned that cooking is a secret society.  There's little codes that you're somehow supposed to know.  For example, "folding".  How in God's name am I supposed to know what the hell "folding" is?  Folding like origami?  Fold it like the laundry? Folding it into an airplane?  Just tell me what the fuck to do and I'll do it.  I'll do anything.

But, moreover, the recipes are so competitive.  There's actually been more than one occasion when I've asked for a recipe only to feel that I have offended the recipe master in such a way it is unforgivable.  I might as well have called their mother a whore. They eye me up and down trying to determine if I'm worthy.  For all of those recipe hoarders out there:  I'll probably fuck it up anyway and it will end up tasting more like birch bark than skor bar cake.  If anyone asks, you didn't give me the recipe.  I pinkie promise.

Another sore note for me is that most good cooks only give partial details.  About five years ago a family member made the best macaroni and cheese I have EVER tasted.  I was so freaked out I HAD to have the recipe.  I received a sweet smile as I was told that it was simply the recipe on the back of the Catalli box.  I hit the macaroni and cheese lottery!  I practically flew home and started my own special batch.  I made sure to follow each line word for word.  When I was done it tasted like I picked it out of the garbage.  It was simply wet noodles with a hint of dull cheese.

That's cool though.  It's all about expectations.  I never, ever have to worry about hosting a dinner party at my house.  I can just get drunk, smoke and listen to Jay-Z.  POTLUCK much?

XO

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