I can’t cook.
When I say that I am not being humble or sarcastic. It is the truth, I cannot cook.
Not only can I not cook, I hate to cook…it literally holds no interest whatever for me. My son loves to cook, and how that happened I will never know. Perhaps in defense? One too many thrown together, improperly cooked and seasoned meals finally got to him, I guess.
My mom didn’t cook. I mean,we ate, sure. Hamburgers and spaghetti and mac and cheese and tuna casserole and canned vegetables and spam….we ate, but there was nothing inspired about it. My mom made a lovely little Sp-ham…spam with cloves and a little honey mustard sauce on it to make it palatable. It wasn’t palatable, but she tried. I remember my two favorite childhood meals : Lazy Dazy meatballs, which were meatballs cooked in a little mushroom soup over egg noodles, and “Surprise” burgers, which were hamburgers with a little hallowed out area in the center that was stuffed with a mixture of cheese, bread and onions. Um, yeah.
I imagine never learning to cook aided in my bad cooking, but my sister cooks, AND bakes. I also hate to bake. I am the perfect candidate for being rich and either eating every meal at a fine dining establishment or having a private cook. As it is I throw a Trader Joe’s veggie burrito in the microwave and call it a meal.
Tom enjoyed cooking. Tom enjoyed eating. So I did cook, but he was a midwest boy, and eating at home was pretty simple…meat, veggies or a salad, something starchy. Summer was the best because he loved to BBQ and we did that most nights. When we ate out we could be daring, and often were. We ate out a lot. When he died I continued cooking simple, boring meals because I had to. I did a lot of things I had to.
But I don’t have to anymore. The kid is grown and does his own thing most nights. He will occasionally deign to cook, but it’s unusual, or he makes something I don’t like, so I pass. More often than not he eats fast food, which is a perfectly respectable form of food for his age. Me? Well I’m like an old bachelor, not to be sexist, but I see friends of mine,single women, who actually make food for themselves. It astonishes me. Truth be told I don’t even enjoy food much anymore. I seem to eat when I remember and eat whatever is at hand. Seriously, old bachelor. Fucking sad, really.
I just finished dinner. I ate a chicken breast left over from a Costco chicken I picked up the other day and a handful of trail mix.
I’m not sure where I am going with this. I felt the urge to write this because I commented on a friends FB page . She was disturbed that there were no giblets in her turkey, and I felt that was fine because she doesn’t eat bread so why would she need them for stuffing? UH, no, right? Giblets are for gravy. For gravy.
Maybe I should end this with a big “I am going to learn to cook, take a class, BAM” ending, but I think not. I don’t have any desire to learn to cook, I just don’t care. I’m owning that.