I can't cook.
I don't cook.
Because I can't cook.
This was brought to my attention after two specific occurrences:
1. Right after someone purchased a chicken for me so that it could be cooked, the broth could be drank, and then a lovely, uh, chicken? dish could be made from it.
This didn't go so well considering that the chicken was cooked, the broth was drank, but no chicken dish manifested itself and the writer of this post received a severe tongue-lashing along the lines of, "Liesl, you REALLY need to learn how to cook!" from the chicken-purchaser.
You may remember, seeing that I mentioned the incident with the purchased chicken once before in a blog, that my response was to promptly cook the damn chicken and then throw it out - on a matter of principle.
2. The second occurrence was during my most recent week of fasting. I found myself daydreaming of food and planning what I would eat next. This was all dashed to the rocks when I realized that, in all reality, I would probably be consuming rice, fruit, the here-and-there spaghetti dish, sandwiches, and rinse and repeat.
Because the truth is dear reader, my storehouse of recipes consists of Top Ramen, macaroni and cheese, pizza, and just about anything out of a box.
But I really want to know how to cook.
I reeeaaaaaaally do.
So. In no necessary order:
- I made Tiramisu not too long ago and it may not have been the prettiest concoction on the face of the planet but what CAN one expect after dousing raw eggs with espresso? It was damn tasty and I have to admit I was almost thrilled when my boss made the same dish just a few weeks ago and her boyfriend flat-out told her that it sucked. BWAHA!
- We now make homemade granola around here and eat it like it's going out of style. The sheer fact that the smell of roasting nuts and coconut coming from our little oven every week is a product of something that I did is enough to bring tears to my very eyes.
- I had to call my mother once to ask about making fried chicken but that's really beside the Point. The Point is: I made homemade, southern-style, this-will-clog-your-arteries-in-one-sitting-and-simultaneously-make-your-grandmother-very-very-proud fried chicken.
- I once made up a pasta dish with chicken, spices and what-have-you items that we had in the kitchen. My boss absolutely loved it and ate a crap-ton of it but I know that I will never be able to recreate what I did that day. I shall not try.
- And then my boss suggested homemade curry. She decided that she wanted to eat homemade curry and that there was no better for the task than the writer of this post.
But I did it! Everything was from scratch and also, might I add, took a good deal of time to find around here because, the oriental restaurants might have a plethora of coconut milk, bamboo sprouts, and white eggplant, but the grocery stores - do not.
My boss decreed that pictures needed to be taken of this occasion because she was sure that my mother would never believe it to hear it.
Coincidentally, and only by coincidence, was my boss correct in saying that my mother probably would NOT believe it without seeing it so here are the pictures to prove it.
I cooked, mom.
(This is the only time you will ever see me post pictures like this on the WWW because let's face it, I'm just not one to post pictures of household activities: vacuuming, ironing, mowing the lawn, sleeping, taking a shower, etc.)
Feast your eyes.
Ha. 'Feast.' Get it?
Proof of the food that was there.
Proof that the writer of this post was there.
oh and the curry was great. BAM.