This post is supposed to be equipped with hand-drawn visuals, but our scanner is a jerk, so I hope you like words. I'll update this with the drawings as soon as I can get them onto this computer.
I come from a long line of Southern women and Italian men. Normally, this would indicate me as some kind of kitchen wizard. But I am not normal—I am all nonsense and glitter dust—so nothing could be further from the truth. The unabridged list of my gastroffenses is space prohibitive, but here are the more lesson-y ones:
--I improvised a peanut sauce recipe that glued my tongue to my cheek. (Not a joke.) I had to tear my face apart with abrasives to get that crap off. Unless you are Chinese, do not try to pretend that you can fucking wing it. There’s a reason why Chinese restaurants are so popular. Don’t try this at home, white girl.
--I burned boiled eggs. Black. It turns out that if, like me, you live free and easy while your eggs boil, you forget about your eggs and all the water evaporates and the eggs explode, shooting chicken soot all over your kitchen. That’s kind of a major bitch to clean, incase you didn’t know. Watch the pot.
--I made a cake that would not bake. Sha-zam! I am going to have a cake in 30 minutes! No. That cake sat in the oven for two hours and Would. Not. Bake. Devil’s food.
--I savagely burned toast. No excuse.
My point is that I do not cook. But, oh lucky day, I do not have to cook. My husband can cook the socks off of anything with his hands behind his back. If it wasn’t for him, I would be having dinner at Smoothie King every night.
It’s gotten to the point where I’m a bit of a, how you say, princess. I sit around and drink Chardonnay while my food is prepared, sprinkled with parsley, and then served to me, piping hot. And delicious. I do offer to help him, but did you just read my list? My talents are best rendered in other rooms of the house. Other rooms, where there’s wine and Facebook.
Supper’s ready. I’m out.
(Did I mention that I make BANGIN’ biscuits? White Lily flour, ya’ll!
Yeah, but other than biscuits, I can’t make anything people would eat. Or that I would eat.)