First off, I cook…like…six things that I like to eat:
3. Taco salad
4. Pork stir fry (pretty much invented this one with brown rice, stir fry veggies and extra mushrooms and perfectly good pork chops that I cut into bite-sized pieces.)
5. Meat loaf
6. Pasta primavera with chicken (again, I was just hungry and couldn’t afford to go anywhere so I got creative with chicken breast, spaghetti noodles and a package of green giant veggies)
I told myself I’d make it to 40 without ever cooking a turkey for Thanksgiving (and honestly, there’s really no reason I can think of that would make me want to put my hand up a cold, dead turkey’s butt. None whatsoever).
I do recall being a Girl Scout and having to “make dinner for my family” to earn a patch. Now, I didn’t actually want to be a Girl Scout to learn to cook. I wanted to camp, pitch a tent, help people and, you know, just generally kick ass, but nope. I had to cook dinner. While mom and I both thought, “what the hell kind of sexist bullshit is this?!?” We thought I couldn’t screw up tacos so that’s what I made. I thought huh….taco seasoning makes it taste like tacos right? I’ll just throw a few packages of that in. They ate it. Poor suckers. I got my patch. But, yeah….I messed up tacos.
I once also boiled water right until there was nothing in the pan and set it on the counter where I burned a hole in the counter top. Mom just laughed.
Of course, I grew up and realized all I could cook was cans of Campbell’s soup and Kraft macaroni and cheese and I asked my mom, “why didn’t you ever teach me how to cook?”
She replied, “I didn’t want it to be a priority for you.”
It took quite a few years for me to wrap my head around that. Kinda…well, you know I need to eat right? But, no. She didn’t think it should be a priority. And as much as I crave a full turkey dinner sometimes, I don’t really have any desire to cook it. Why would I when I can just go to Perkin’s?
Still, I wish I gave a damn about cooking occasionally. But seriously, it’s not very often.
Women don’t all have to cook. Pretty sure I’m doing just swell without that. And it ain’t the 50’s and I’m not June Cleaver.
So, for all those men that love to cook out there, and I know you’re there. You fucking rock.