Oh, so here’s a funny story. When I was still in college I decided that I wanted to cook a bowl of soup from scratch. Now, keep in mind that I had no recipe to guide me nor did I ever make anything from scratch in my entire life. I got frozen veggies, deli chicken, and ramen and threw all of these ingredients into a large pot of boiling water with the intent of making chicken noodle soup. It was only later, when I went to eat my “soup”, that I realized that throwing a bunch of things into a pot of boiling water doesn’t instantly make soup. Instead of soup, I just had a bowl of hot water with random crap floating in it.
There is only one dish that I know how to make by heart. It is my family’s secret recipe and I have impressed dozens of men with my fabulous culinary abilities when they tasted this recipe. It’s called “Tuna Over Rice” and it’s basically canned tuna cooked together with cream of mushroom soup dumped over a plate of rice. It has the smell and consistency of cat food, but my God, is it delicious.
My mother is an awesome cook. And I know that I could learn, if given enough time and patience, but, like with a lot of other things in my life, I’m just too lazy. I really don’t feel like spending even ten minutes preparing a meal after a nine hour day in the office. I would much rather stop at Wawa and pick up a hoagie.
Besides being lazy, I have this irrational phobia of uncooked meat. I don’t fear the diseases I might get from slimy, raw chicken. I fear the sight, feel, and smell of it. And, above all of that, I fear the traces of blood that are still sticking to my food. It’s just foul. It reminds me that this chicken, in fact, came from an actual chicken. The only way I can eat meat without gagging is to pretend that it was never part of an animal. My meat is an isolated being. It just came into existence, much like the universe, for the sheer purpose of my hunger. And when I’m faced with the sight of uncooked cutlets or breast meat, chunks of fat still intact, – and ohmigawd is that a feather?!? – I die a little bit inside.
I know that learning to cook is part of being a self sufficient adult and blah blah blah, but I’d much rather just not do it. Ever.