|It’s dinner time!|
Some people like to cook. Some people like to eat. I fall into the second category. As I mentioned in a previous blog, one of my new year’s resolutions is to learn how to cook. In the interest of keeping my word, I recently purchased my very first cookbook to help me accomplish this goal.
There’s no one to blame for my lack of cooking skills other than myself. My mom loves to cook and bake. My dad and my younger sister are also pretty good in the kitchen. In college, all of my roommates were great cooks (two-and-a-half out of five are Italian). While I was studying abroad in Spain and Italy, other people cooked for me, too.
So I’ve been fairly lucky in associating myself with people who like to cook, which is awesome, because as I said earlier, I like to eat. But it’s time for me to step up to the plate–for survival reasons, if nothing else. One day I’m going to move out and I’m not going to be able to afford take out every night. I cannot survive on Kraft White Cheddar Macaroni & Cheese for the rest of my life. But my motives are also somewhat superficial, too. I’ve read in numerous magazines that the way to a guy’s heart is through his stomach and I’m fixing to find out.
Quite frankly, cooking scares me. As a writer, numbers are like kryptonite to me, so trying to follow a recipe (what with all the measurements and fractions), is a bit intimidating. I’m not completely helpless. I’ve established a few standbys over the years: homemade baked macaroni and cheese (my favorite!), penne pasta with vodka sauce and mozzarella cheese and roasted asparagus. But, alas, it’s time to broaden my horizons.
Today I made dinner with some assistance from my sous chef aka my sister. The menu: Southern-style oven fried chicken, roasted red potatoes and green beans balsamic with garlic. Simple, yet tasty and fairly healthy. My guinea pigs…ahem, family members…liked it and no one got sick. I considered it a success and now I’m excited to try out even more recipes. Watch out, Rachael Ray, here I come!