Those of you who know me well know that I cannot cook. As in burning water, out-of-a-box, drive-through-window CANNOT MAKE FOOD.
One of my resolutions this year is to start using the kitchen for more than a place to store my beer and Eggo waffles. In that vein, I’ve started accumulating things that one might need in order to make meals, such as pots, pans, spatulas and even measuring cups. The crowning achievement, however, was over Christmas when I received… wait for it… A Cuisinart food processor and mandolin slicer.
And now I’m the Barefoot Freaking Contessa.
In the past few days, I’ve made (not from a box or a can, but actually PIECED TOGETHER FROM SCRATCH): broccoli/cauliflower soup, aloo gobi, poppy cheddar seed crackers, roasted red pepper and feta spread, falafel, tzatziki, vegan chocolate cupcakes and lasagna. I don’t know what kind of light bulb finally went off in my head, but there’s just this feeling of accomplishment you get from pulling a dish out of the oven that originated in your brain, not a plastic container.
Someone should have told me about this before I spent the better part of my twenties living on Spaghettios and Fudgesicles.