I’m not sure it was a worthwhile endeavor, though.
As I’ve told you before, cooking has never been my forte. I come from a long line of women who dislike and reject the practice, which is time-consuming, stressful, intimidating, dangerous, and terrifying. My mom and grandmother don’t particularly enjoy making food, and they passed their disdain for it down to me. I guess we’re contemporary ladies in that way, yet females still receive a lot of backlash for wanting to stay out of the kitchen. A former roommate of mine used to complain to her family about my complete lack of interest in cooking. She wasn’t being rude, though. She’s the best cook I’ve ever met, and believe it or not, she’s the one who taught me how to make salmon, steak, and other complex dishes. And by complex, I mean meals that require more than one pot and pan. I have her to thank for showing me the ropes and helping me get over some of my fears, but I rarely put my mediocre culinary skills to use.
But last night, I decided to make a full course meal for myself. My roommate wasn’t home, so I took over the stove and made chicken, mashed potatoes, and peas (for me, that’s a challenge). I’d cook more often if I had a larger living space, but there’s simply not enough room for the both of us to make food at once. And boy, do I use this reality as a crutch.
After a half hour of flipping chicken limbs, stirring peas, and wiping down my counters, I had this:
I keep it simple by choice. The downside was the clean-up process, which felt unnecessarily long for a meal for one. I was also really full from eating too much. I wouldn’t say it’s a good decision to go all out every week, but I’ll have to do it at some point, so I may as well prepare now.