I made myself scrambled eggs for dinner. Scrambled eggs is the only dish I can successfully cook. Actually, I have been known to make some pretty mean pizza bagels, but those come in a box with instructions on the side, so I don’t think they count.
I’m not a natural chef. I may be able to cook great scrambled eggs now, but it took me an entire summer to get them just right. I had them every morning and switched up the recipe each time; I added sugar, subtracted milk, tossed in flour, experimented with orange juice, and cooked them for different amounts of time. Once I had the perfect recipe, ’twas magic.
But most of my other cooking experiences have been traumatic. I’ve always taken pride in being a twenty-first century MacGyver of sorts, but that’s not always a good trait to have when you’re cooking. No baking powder? I’ll add twice the amount of baking soda! We’re out of butter in stick form? Grab me a spoon and I’ll shovel in some Country Crock ’til it looks about right! I’ve never met a dish that couldn’t be made better with a few drops of food coloring. But I’ll let you in on a little secret – blue food coloring turns chocolate chip cookies green a.k.a. unappetizing…as do all my other baseless improvisations. I’ve produced more rock hard brownies and burnt french toast than you could imagine.
I’m not too concerned with my lack culinary talent, however. I plan to find myself a house husband I could whip into cooking for me anyway. And besides, Pepperidge Farm has already perfected all things cookie and the Asian population of the universe has perfected all things savory. There’s no need for me in the world of cooking.
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