The first meal I ever made was tacos. And, really, all I did was brown the meat. And, um, I screwed it up. (I also had this weird vision that the meat was still "alive" but that is a totally different post.) The second meal was a heart shaped pizza for my 8th grade boyfriend. I burned it black. I realized in that moment (after two failures) that I was not...good?...in the kitchen. I could just tell that cooking wasn't my thing, persay. Then I went to college and learned about feminism. It was GREAT. I could just not cook and play it off as some feminist thing. *chant* HELL NO, I WILL NOT BE CONSTRAINED TO THE KITCHEN. I AM LIBERATED. *bra burning*
And then....dum, dum, dum....I got married. To another non-cooker. We realized early on that it was sink or swim. Do or die. Cook or starve. We chose cook. *sigh*
I've really been improving. I even follow recipes. This weekend we had a party and I followed THREE recipes. THREE. DIFFERENT. RECIPES. ONTHESAMEDAY!
But first....the junior high Kristen surfaced.....
I had put a brown bag full of peaches in our oven to ripen. (Yeah, I don't get it either but my grandma does it and it really works. REALLY). Step one of my spinach dip was to "preheat oven." Okay. Got it. Preheat oven.
Step one should have been "remove brown bag with peaches from oven."
But, it wasn't. There was smoke. And fire. And burnt peaches.
And then there was laughing....and a good party despite the stinky beginning.