People ask me if like to cook. I look at them like they’re crazy. The only thing I really like to cook is chocolate cake, and that’s because I like to eat the batter. It’s better than the cake, I think. By the time I bake the cake, I’m so sick of chocolate I can’t even eat any.
No, I really don’t like to cook much. I can follow a recipe to the letter, and stuff comes out pretty good, but I’m not clicking my heels while I’m throwing it all together. I’m thinking what a pain it will be to clean it all up.
Some people have a real talent for cooking. They can taste a dish and think, “My, this needs a dash of oil of banana leaves,” or “The oregano is a bit overwhelming.” Not me. I think, “This tastes funny I don’t think I’ll make it again.”
If ever I have to doctor up my own soup, I use the same four spices I use for everything else. One of these is “seasoned salt”. I figure that takes care of all sorts of categories of flavors.
If you open my spice cabinet, you’ll see that I have a kazillion little things of every kind of spice you can think of. That’s because of the recipe thing. If a recipe calls for a smidgeon of crushed ginger root, then I figure I’d better buy some or else the dish will surely be a failure. The ginger root gets added to my ever-expanding collection, never to be touched again. Never to be thrown away either, though.
“Good cook” to adults is very different than “good cook” to kids. My kids think I’m great, because I can rustle up a mean pot of macaroni and cheese, straight from the box. My heart was broken, however, the day my son came home and told me his friend’s mom was the best cook in the world.
“Why do you think that, son? What did she fix that was so good?” I was holding my breath, holding back the tears.
“She could fix four things at once, all on the same plate. One little section had meat, another one had beans, and one had corn. But best of all, she cooked cherry pie in the last section! Isn’t that COOL!?”
It dawned on me about midway through the second sentence that she had fixed him a T.V.dinner.
A new weapon. I bought lots of T.V. dinners. Then I sat my son down and asked him to do me a big favor. He could tell his friends I was the best cook in the world, but please don’t tell them why. If it ever got back to my mother-in-law I would be shamed out of the family.
