Scallywag

Only passions, great passions, can elevate the soul to great things.

~ Denis Diderot (1713 - 1784) ~

Maybe It’s Better I Don’t Cook

October 18th, 2013 ~ Est. reading time: 1 min, 57 secs

Oh dear...

Oh dear…

Actually I’m famous in our household for my cooking. But not in a good way.

You see, the problem is partly my method and two expert flavor tasters. Either that, or they are just fusspots

My best meal efforts have been likened to “toxic waste” (uncharitable), “disgusting” (cruel), and “Dad, why can’t you simply do this properly?” (frustrating).

Then again, on the odd rare occasion (usually when there is a double blue moon coinciding with the transit of Venus, and the reappearance of Halley’s Comet), the dinner eating clan will cautiously taste the victuals set before them, and then (astounded) declare, “Huh! It’s a miracle! Dad, this actually tastes good”.

You might expect shock to set in. But there are stomachs to feed and cleaning up to do. So, I quietly take it in my “Boy am I good at this cooking caper or what?” stride and clean up the kitchen  (Which is to say, if you’ve ever seen a peacock shimmy it’s tail feathers, now try picturing that happening in the kitchen).

Potentially, I could blame it all on the ingredients (“You want me to cook dinner for you… with a stone? You’re kidding right?”). Okay, that’s an exaggeration. But making a meal out of a can of lousy beans is enough to make anyone regret selling the family cow and make them crazy enough to start scurrying up the nearest beanstalk to hand.

However, in my case, this is limited to awkwardly scrambling onto a kitchen chair. Yet even at this perilous height, I confess to a suffering a touch of kitchen vertigo. Hey, maybe I can blame the flavor of my cooking on that? (“Honestly, officer. I didn’t mean to poison them. I simply got dizzy and got knocked out when my head hit the frypan. What’s that? Yes, lucky it wasn’t turned on. Though tipping a whole canister of chilli into the main dish when I slipped must have done the damage”).

So I’m I heavy handed with herbs. I admit that. But I’m starting to skip seasonings completely these days (ever since I started going along to Herbaholics Anonymous).

Trouble is, my eldest makes unsavory remarks about that too (“Why do you even bother Dad. Even Scally could make something more edible than the muck you make. And he’s a cat!”).

Well, what can I say? You can’t be good at everything. Besides which, it is ages since anyone complained of stomachache, so I must be doing something right.

My advice? Fall in love with someone who can cook if you can’t. Otherwise, consider readymade foods, or fork out for takeaway. It’s safer and less trouble than a stomach pump.

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