Judging by the TV shows I watch semi-regularly, I should be a kitchen goddess. One of my father’s hobbies is cooking, and he enjoys leaving the Food Network on in our living room some evenings. In this manner, I have been exposed to all manner of cooking shows. Our favorite show, by far, is Good Eats, hosted by Alton Brown. Alton Brown is far more than a chef. He is a veritable culinary scientist; instead of just telling you how long to cook the thing, he explains the molecular bonding responsible for the way it cooks. Pretty sweet, eh?
So, as I said, I should be relatively proficient in the ways of cooking. The sad truth, however, is that every person who has lived at least ten years on the planet knows more about cooking than I do. Because, the real extent of my cooking ability is: Mac and cheese. I’m not even joking. I’ve tried making other things, (There was the infamous “slippery pepper noodles” fiasco, among other things) but mac and cheese is my old standby… the only thing I can really be trusted to cook.
… Except for that one time, of course. I am referring to an incident that occurred within the last six months, on some innocent afternoon when I was cooking myself up some macaroni for lunch. I think where I really went wrong was talking to Elijah on the phone while I did this. Because, although I can cook mac ‘n cheese like nobody’s business, I apparently cannot multitask. So after I had finished both my phone conversation and my cooking, I dished up some helpings both for myself and mom.
It took approximately two bites into the macaroni to realize that something was horribly, dreadfully wrong. The cheesy sauce just seemed incredibly… thick. Too rich to bear, almost. “Did you add salt to this?” Mom asked. Now that she mentioned it, I noticed the overpowering saltiness too. What had I done wrong??
That’s when I remembered. Instead of taking that stick of butter and cutting it in half, so that I would have a quarter cup of butter (the mac ‘n cheese box recommends a quarter cup, but even that is excessive), while I was talking on the phone I had put the ENTIRE stick of butter in: a whole half cup! As soon as I realized this, the macaroni ceased to taste simply horrible. Now it was atrocious. I couldn’t force down another bite, and I just grimaced down at the slimy, fat-slathered noodles. After seeing Mom eyeing her macaroni in a similar fashion, we reluctantly threw the whole pot-full away.
Luckily, I have not had the same difficulty with mac ‘n cheese since. I think it is clear, however, that fast food restaurants were invented for people like me.
March 22nd, 2006 at 10:10 am
fast food restaurants make me puke…and probably are at least as bad as your mac and cheese