I am not.
First let me say, in my own defense, I never needed to learn how to cook. My twinergy is a fine chef who makes “refrigerator hash” seem divine. No lie. Even when we have celery, tomatoes, pasta, frozen shrimp, and frozen peas available, he makes something weird and delicious happen. Even if I have all the makings of a lovely meal, it’s a 50/50 shot at an edible experience. When I was young, I wanted nothing to do with cooking. I never saw myself as someone who needed to learn the art. In fact, I believed for most of my childhood that one eats to survive, not that one survives to eat. But I did learn in my early adulthood to enjoy a lovely meal (thank you forever Maurizio). I came to the mistaken conclusion that I needed to pay a restaurateur to make enjoyable food.
Then I met my husband. He’s an amazing cook. And I’m not saying that to gloat. My husband makes amazing food. He loves to cook. He learned to boil water because his mom sucks so bad at all things kitchen. So food is important to him. When he was courting me, I will not lie, filling my refrigerator with goodies for the ePrince and leftovers for me – I fell in love with the man who sought to keep me well-fed. When the ePrince was a wee babe, I worked hard to master boiling water for stews and mushes that would make up the vast proportion of his baby food. Such delicacies require little spicing or imagination. By the time the lilEintsien came along we were set with a routine of meandering grocer aisles and picking the evenings dinner faire as sort of a daily family outing.
Because of these important men in my life, I never really learned to cook. I can make deliciously enjoyable cakes and cookies. I have mastered my own chocolate chip cookie recipe that others fawn all over. Yet since moving to the armpit o’ hell I’ve been required to take up a lot more of the cooking responsibilities. And it has not been a pleasant transition for anyone. When I cook, the hubby is often a “not hungry, had a big lunch…” kinda guy. The lilEinstein cries. And the ePrince is so very charming in his promises that “it’s good mom, really.”
This evening’s dinner was remarkable for it’s chewyness. I oven roasted chicken-breast slices and made angel hair pasta with a mushroom creme sauce. Thank goodness for the fresh baguette on the side or else we all would have starved! My husband was set to be home about an hour before he actually came home, so I left the chicken in the oven to stay warm. It was chix jerky by time I served it at the table. I did wait until the hubby actually arrived in the door to start the pasta, but since the ePrince is on the injured-roster I was forced to wrangle the lilEinstein and coordinate most of the table preparations myself. The pasta was a rubber blob. The mushroom creme sauce was actually okay, but really couldn’t make up for the disastrous accouterments. Everyone ate their bread.
Would that I could live on cake alone.