Richard Nixon’s most famous line was, “I am not a crook.” My most famous line is “I am not a cook.”
My kitchen is not mine. The Captain, my husband, is the chef at our home.
When we first met, I had some leftover Chinese food and some Ben and Jerry’s ice cream in my fridge. I may have had mayo, but I don’t think so. I do know that I had plenty of wine in my apartment along with a box of Velveeta Cheese and Shells. I am not a cook.
My dad and stepmother bought me a recipe book called, “Help! My Apartment has a Kitchen!” but I didn’t read it. I didn’t have time for it, and I hate grocery shopping (but that is another post entirely).
Good thing The Captain is addicted to cooking or my family would go hungry. He loves watching The Food Network and the show Chopped in particular. He gets three recipe magazines – Everyday Food, Food Network and Bon Appetite. He loves to cook.
I asked him to sum up my cooking abilities. He looked at me as if it was a trick question. I said, “Be honest. Be harsh. It’s OK to tell me the truth because after you do, I am going to put it directly into my post about cooking.”
He responds, “Why would you ever consider writing a post about cooking?”
“Come on,” I begged, “Tell me what you think about my kitchen abilities.”
He looks over, studying my face as if to see if I am serious. He finally answers by saying, “Clueless and in a state of despair,” and turns back to the latest episode of Chopped.
Well. That sums it up pretty nicely.
The thing is, I really just don’t like cooking. I feel like spending hours in a kitchen for the food to be devoured in less that a commercial break is depressing. I also find that I get frustrated in the kitchen. It is not simple – there are so many things to get out and put away. Ugh. I wish the kitchen was more like my laptop. Everything there – right under my fingertips.
Touching raw food is also difficult for me. I hate touching raw chicken, hot dogs, or basically any meat including lunch meat (it is slimy – gross). The Captain says this is typical. Ha. I think if I had to cook for myself, I would surely be a vegetarian. I can handle vegetables and fruits. They are nice in the kitchen. Nice fruits and veggies. Good fruits and veggies.
Some of the more vivid memories of my lack of kitchen prowess:
- When dating The Captain, I made his entire family shrimp jambalaya. It was so spicy that only his brother (bless his heart) finished his. Everyone else seemed to be very intense on drowning their salads in ranch dressing.
- When promising my dudes chicken fingers, I did not really understand how to do an egg dip mixture. We ate chicken fingers ala scrambled eggs that evening.
- When making a casserole, I didn’t notice the recipe mentioning that I had to cook the rice before adding it to the casserole dish. It was crunchy, and not in a good way!
- When trying to make potato cheese soup, I let the soup boil over the pot and I still have remnants of soup between the glass panels looking into the stove. I don’t know how the soup got there, but I do know that I am reminded of the fiasco whenever I turn the oven light on.
I can happily say I haven’t once caught the kitchen on fire. I have, however, burned some bread in the oven. The Captain said broil it, and I thought that meant for 15 minutes. Apparently broilers are quick and dirty cookers. Who knew?
So, for now, I will stick to using the beloved microwave and my debit card at food establishments and for quick grocery trips. Farewell, kitchen! Until we boil again.