A Recipe for Disaster

There comes a time in every man’s life when he must accept the passage of time, must accept that there are responsibilities that come with the ascent into independence and emancipation. I speak of that dreaded time for a young man when he realizes- gulp- that he must begin cooking for himself.

It’s not that I don’t know how to cook- I have a general understanding of the process of heating various edibles and combining them with other such edibles to create some conglomeration of nutrients and calories. I get that. I also enjoy cooking, to an extent. Leave me alone in the kitchen with a recipe and the necessary ingredients, and I’m fine to muddle my way through some dishes (even beyond the notoriously challenging Kraft Dinner.) What worries me is that, for all intents and purposes, there is no safe haven of foodstuffs should my attempt at chicken cacciatore fail miserably. For the first two years of my university life, I lived on residence, and never had to worry about food. Well, I had to worry about the effects of so much grease and sodium shawshanking its way through my arteries, but not the physical quantity of food. But living on my own- that’s a new level of independence, a level I was never truly confident I was prepared for.

Oh sure, we’re close to various restaurants and fast food joints, so I suppose if I burn the meatloaf I can whisk away to the KFC for a bucket of the Colonel’s finest- but on my current budget, that’s not particularly viable, especially if I enjoy creature comforts and extras like soap or electricity.

My family was a big help, granting me generally unfettered access to the kitchen and even granting me a glimpse at the secret molasses cookies recipe (the secret, apparently, is a pint of rum. Who knew?) and such for future reference. Even following a recipe is challenging, however, when one isn’t sure what to do. I can’t tell if the room is warm enough for the pizza dough to rise, or if the skillet is at the precise “medium-high” temperature for caramelizing (?) the onions. Being a picky eater as well, I’m worried the recipe will call for an ingredient I don’t like, such as mustard. For all I care, mustard can remain in the seventh circle of hell where it belongs- I don’t want it in my recipes. But if the recipe calls for it, what am I supposed to substitute? Inquiring minds want to know.

I’m slowly but surely getting the hang of it though. Oh sure, I still have my share of disappointments- my first lasagna turned into “pasta-and-ground-beef-based-slop,” and I’ve learned it’s best if the baking dishes and I remained just friends- but there have been a number of rousing successes, too. I can whip up a fettucine alfredo that I would put up against any restaurant in town, and I make a mean pork loin roast. I’m branching out, trying new recipes, and slowly being introduced to the wide world of spices and herbs. It’s a long and arduous climb to the summit of culinary aptitude, but dammit, I’ll get there someday.

So, does anybody want to help with the dishes?