Lesbian log twenty-six-zero-three-twenty-one
Cooking is the bane of my existence. I’m not fond of it. I eat because I have to to survive, and when I finally force myself to cook, I’m a slave to a recipe because I lack confidence in the kitchen.
I grew up eating a very bland diet. My father had half his stomach removed when he was young due to an ulcer and couldn’t tolerate any spices. My mother was not terribly adventurous in the kitchen to begin with, so this predicament suited her palate and skill level just fine—I ate a lot of boiled meat and potatoes… and frozen peas. My God how I hate peas!
As I moved into my tweens and teens, I tried to teach myself how to use a stove, but my limited knowledge consisted of knowing how to open a Kraft Dinner box and boil water and using a can opener to pour Chef Boyardee pasta into a small sauce pan. That was pretty much the extent of my culinary skills.
When I ventured out on my own and started a family, I scrambled to learn how to feed them and fill their bellies with fresh fruit and vegetables. It was pretty hit or miss. They were, and still are, picky eaters and their palates aren’t terribly adventurous either. Given my culinary background and limited repertoire, this isn’t surprising. They were doomed from the get-go, inheriting my own fear of weird tastes and textures.
New foods freak me out. I’m a super senser, so I taste everything to the extreme and my sense of smell is almost canine, so things are just MORE! Something a tad bitter is just plain nasty (don’t get me started on arugula and kale). Something sweet is super sweet. (Though I have no issue with this one. I say bring on the sugar!) Slightly sour puckers even my toe nails and anything that I would consider too spicy or hot is apparently not even remotely spicy and causes heat lovers to tilt their heads to the side while they try to analyze my reaction, which typically involves coughing, guzzling water and whimpering.
I grew up on such a bland diet, it’s difficult to convince my brain that things outside that small box won’t kill me. However, over the years I have tried to expand my palate and cooking repertoire, but I need the expert guidance that can only be found in a recipe book. So when I do cook, It’s usually time consuming and labour intensive.
I’m OK with this, for the most part, because I know that the final product will result in something my boys will enjoy—or at least tolerate—and I will have managed to get some vegetables into their system while I’m at it.
This is a win for me.
However, now that I’m on my own two weeks out of the month, consulting the recipe book seems ludicrous. All that work for one person just doesn’t seem worth it. Currently, my diet consists of gluten-free macaroni and cheese and oatmeal (I’ve clearly regressed to my childhood). This has a two-fold benefit—they are both easy and cheap. When all three boys are here, they eat A LOT, so the limited diet I’ve been eating helps balance the budget.
I recognize that I need to find the motivation to put forth some effort when cooking for one, but for now, it’s just easier opening a box and boiling water.
Do you find it a challenge to cook for one? How did you overcome it? Any great solo recipes out there that are easy and delicious? I’d love to hear from you. Drop your comments below.
Bon Appétit
In gratitude,
Marissa xo