It's no secret I really do not enjoy cooking. I hate the shopping for items I might use 1/4 cup of then forget about until they're congealed with mold in the back of my fridge. I hate looking at a fantastic food porn image of a "simple dish" in a foodie mag only to discover that in my hands the food does not even resemble mid-grade wet dog food direct from a can. I do not like the prep work of measuring, the guessing where the hot spots in my oven are, the multiple steps involved which I inevitably forget at least one of and cause my dish to fail. Again. I hate the clean-up of a million bowls, spatulas, and pans. And then the grimacing faces and bitching and moaning of distaste after slaving for so long in the kitchen. Eating out or buying pre-made food is so much more gratifying. Cooking can kiss my ass.
Today I tried my hand at mini peppermint cheesecakes. The recipe seemed easy, with it's smallish quantity of ingredients. I measured carefully, scrolled down my computer screen to follow each little step. I molded my little tart shells in their cute gingerbread wrappers. I made my peppermint cheesecakey goodness filling and spooned in carefully into their shells..... And then remembered I needed to pre-bake those fucking little shells. Seriously??? Why am I cursed with the Idiot Fucktard Shitty Cook crown? I didn't ask for this title? I proceeded to dump the filling OUT and toss the shells into the trash because they were ruined. I repeated this whole process, this time correctly, a day later and guess what?? They did not look pretty or worthy of serving on my new 3-tiered sweets stand from Target. The crust was chewy and nasty and not chocolatey. If I was stoned out of my mind maybe I wouldn't have known the difference. But for the trouble I went through these little fuckers should have made me want to smoke a cigarrette when I was done eating one.
I cannot cook meat. I will either cook it until it can be used as dog rawhide chews or it will be on the pink side and you might need antibiotics. Being a vegetarian for 10 years, I suppose I bypassed the learning portion of meat cookery skills I might have inherited from my mom. I was too busy being a non meat-eating, bitchy teenager. I am not fond of beef, which I have been criticized for being highly un-American by friends and family. I do like pork and chicken and I adore any and all seafood. But generally it is best to commit to reservations rather than a recipe if I am to enjoy such fleshy fare. I will jack it to disastrous state without hesitation.
I am also a well-known failure at potatoes. How, might you ask, could one sabotage something as basic and hearty as a potato? Let me tell you. I once left a pan of sweet potato fries in the oven after they were done because the rest of dinner was not ready. My mother-in-law tried to make me feel better by calling them "Cajun-style". They were blacker than Kanye West's balls. On another family occasion, I tried my hand at Hasselback potatoes, a cute little fan shaped potato treat that looked easy enough with Paula Dean's recipe and a stick of butter. They failed to brown in my convection over, were starchy and chewy, and no one was polite enough to declare them tasty by any other name. I had earned my reputation as The Potato Persecutor. I further sealed my fate for this crown of shame when I attempted, yet again at a family gathering where my dish would be served to many, to try a new recipe for sweet potatoes. Fucking Bobby Flay and his spicy ideas. If you work with chipotle peppers in adobo sauce, do not let yourself think that a little more will be better in your dish. A "little more" will require extra glasses of ice water for all guests, Rolaids with everyone's gingerbread dessert, and crying children who will complain their mouths are on fire because of Mommy's evil potatoes. If I offer to bring potato ANYTHING to a dinner party, kindly remind me of my lack of skills and ask me to please bring a salad. Pretty sure I can't fuck that up.
My free time around the typical dinner hour is often taken up by either teaching dance or driving my kids to or from dance. In order to fulfill my wifely/motherly/Betty Crocker-ish duties as a meal providing homemaker I have to be A) home, B) prepared with a fully stocked kitchen and pantry at all times, C) be efficient with my few free hours I have to myself, and D) have a recipe all ready or memorized to prepare. I am not home a lot. Even though my job is part-time, my kids tend to be full time. Period. Who the fuck wants to sit with cookbooks everyday planning a God damn slow cooker recipe? Not this bitch. My kitchen occasionally has a decent array of food but I am usually missing at least 2 crucial ingredients in which I could make a delicious meal. Enter Noodles and Company, Panera, or Chipotle. Not even any shame in admitting it--it's my reality, folks. My success rate with recipes, as I have mentioned, ain't so great. No matter my diligence in reading the recipe to a T, I will somehow manage to ruin a perfectly good array of produce and meat. And this pisses me off to no end. I will never try the recipe again and I will garnish my kitchen with a few more delectable profane phrases. I might not be able to cook but I can cook up a mean fucking array of swear words. Bon appetit, bitches!!!!!!
