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Sunday, November 29, 2009


I am not good in the kitchen. I do not relish time spent preparing food. I much prefer the time spent eating food.

There are some people who are intuitive when it comes to food. These people are brilliant, but infuriating.

They don't work from recipes and they don't use exact amounts. They cook by feel and by touch and use recipes only as basic guidelines.

I envy the heck out of these people.

I can follow a recipe, but any time I get a whim to get creative, something goes horribly, horribly wrong. And these times usually end up triggering the smoke alarm and see me watching the oven belch plumes of acrid smoke.

I am an anxious person in the kitchen. Cooking does not relax me - it triggers my flight/fight response and I often emerge from the kitchen feeling like I'm coming out of a culinary foxhole.

There are about 4 dishes that I can make with relatively few issues. I'm usually quite content with my small, narrow repertoire, as Adam makes up for it when he plays house husband.

But there are some days, when I feel like I'm lacking some kind of wifely gene, and I try and force myself to take the kitchen by storm. These times usually end with me slinking out of the kitchen and ordering Thai food.

Despite all of this, I will still watch the Food Network and pretend I know exactly what everyone is talking about. In reality, I just like to look at the pretty food.

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