Bland Stuff

In Defence of Being a Terrible Cook

I’m a bad cook, and that’s an understatement. Everything I cook turns out monstrous. Not like, my soup is bland, but more like – my soup has three eyes and it’s out to get you. I can barely boil an egg without birthing a godforsaken creature hell-bent on destroying civilisation – and one of the greatest things about no longer cooking meat is that my recent Frankensteins have had a little less punch than the ones made out of actual flesh.

I have a beautiful flat equipped a mighty fridge, a kitchen island so big it’s practically a peninsula, and a gas oven – but I carefully schedule my visitors to arrive between mealtimes.

“Sure,” I say, “Let’s hang out. I’m free from 2pm until 6.30.” Like a humanist vampire, I go to great lengths to save innocent people from myself.

That said, being almost unable to nourish yourself isn’t all bad. Take, for example, the following significant benefits.

  • It’s healthier.

Because if everything I eat is going to taste shit, it might as well be rich in iron.

  • You save money.

“But Rosie,” I hear you protest, “surely being unable to eat at home means you spend  more money on food out!”

Ah, my naive friend, you are forgetting one important point: I am incredibly cheap. Eating out often, whilst delightful and nutritious, goes against the very fabric of my being. Each forkful of restaurant food, no matter how delicious, would taste of the same thing: money I could’ve spent on beer.

As it is, my terrible, awful, no-good food helps me save money for two reasons. Firstly, I only ever have to provide food for one person, because no one who’s seen the slop on my dinner plate would ever willingly sit at my table. No matter how much a person loves me, they will stop at poisoning themselves to make me happy. Moreover, people who love me, whilst stopping short of ingesting my food, occasionally take pity on me and bring me real sustenance: breads, hearty soups, fishless sushi. That kind of thing.

  • It’s character building.

Because nothing strengthens the resolve like staring down six litres of just edible tofu casserole. 

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