I am a disgrace to the art of cooking. I probably make the majority of moms who cook wholesome meals each and every day shake their heads in disgust with my repeated attempts and failures to try and cook things from scratch. To put it bluntly, I suck.
That doesnt mean I don't try though. I was never taught how to cook as I grew up. Our meals consisted of McDonalds drive thru, overcooked steak that could crack teeth, and once in awhile, a to die for meatloaf ( my moms specialty). But even then I was never introduced to the kitchen aside from our faithful microwave to heat up hot pockets.
When j and I got together he couldnt cook either. Hell, he didn't even know how to do laundry and his mom would drop by his apartment once a week to do it for him. Laundry is another thing I have never been properly taught, and to this day I still accidentally shrink clothes, or can't get out stains perfectly. But even still, I grabbed J and his dirty laundry one day, marched us down to the laundry room in his building, shoved the clothes in, added soap, turned it on, and exclaimed "There! Now you know how to do laundry!" When we moved in together one thing we watched religiously was the Food network. J picked up some great tricks and soon was a wonderful cook. BC he would deliver upon the table for our culinary pleasure, meals that were both exquisite in taste and sight. But I missed the boat I guess, because even watching the same shows he did, it was all over my head. The ONLY thing I can make to absolute perfection each and every time is a Turkey.
I didn't realize until the other day my lack of cooking skills has permeated into my childrens definition of what cooking entails until I was approached by Xavier with a culinary request.
We were driving home from school when Xavier asked me if we could make cookies soon. But he wanted to make them from scratch. I'm sure the blood drained out of my face as I envisioned a scene of all three of my kids and I in our kitchen, surrounded by flour and sugar, eggs and milk, having no idea how in the world to even begin, while my children clamored for me to begin. I stayed silent for a moment, focusing on the road before me as I gathered my thoughts and wondered how to carefully destroy my sons fantasy without scarring him for life. Fishing for time I asked "From scratch, huh?"
He eagerly responded back "Yeah! You know, the kind from a box, where we add eggs to the mixture? From scratch!"
Relief washed over me and I laughed and agreed that yes, we could definitely make cookies from "scratch" soon.
I still chuckle thinking of this. I wonder if years from now, when Xavier is an adult and has a family of his own, will he marry a woman who knows what "from scratch" really means and what she would think of my abhorrent lack of cooking prowess, or if he will marry a woman who is thankful his idea of home cooking comes from a box.