Memories Of Shiftless Adolescence

When I was in middle school, I had to take a home economics class. It was a very good thing for me to do, although the habits they sought to instill in us didn't stick for me. That doesn't mean that I was then or am now deliberately resistant to cooking, cleaning or the mending of clothes. It means more that I have lacked the discipline and the general wherewithal to apply what they taught, much as I have wanted to.

I have some fond memories and keepsakes.Our class time coincided with the daily broadcast of Sheri Lewis' show "Lamb Chop's Sing-A-Long", and we enthusiastically (if a bit ironically) watched that every day as we labored, barring the days that we were in the kitchen. As we watched the aforementioned show, we sewed, and I was really bad at that. I spent the entire semester just trying to thread the machine, and our diligent teacher never noticed (or never intervened). I eventually made a little pillow, which I still have.

I Cooked It!

I've made it well known that I'm no good hand in the kitchen. There may be one or two things that I can make, but I avoid doing so if I can and resort to the assembling of multiple ingredients with little enthusiasm. Even some single ingredient things are too much for me to manage, and most methods of cooking an egg fall into that category. As Eastwood said in one film of his or another, "A man's got to know his limitations."

Something that is tricky for me is steak. I certainly cannot manage to cook a steak to any specific level of "done-ness" with accuracy and reliability. I have no interest in even trying without some kind of expert on hand to keep an eye on things (and I naturally prefer this person to be an attractive, unattached lady if possible). The other day, I bought a steak meaning to cook it along with a friend who had likewise bought some cut of meat destined for the grill.

Caveat Et Al

I described yesterday the revelatory experience of hard-boiling a dozen eggs. The tale is of course not done there. I doubt whether it will ever really end. Those eggs have so much to teach that it shall surely take a lifetime and then some to unlock all its mysteries. The first which I stumbled upon is the devastating trauma that can be inflicted on the unwitting digestive system by the unassuming hard-boiled egg. I'm sure that I need not go into further detail.

The more pleasant succeeding mystery lays in the shucking of the egg, or perhaps the peeling is a more accurate way of phrasing it. This in itself is clearly a riddle wrapped in an enigma, but I shall save it for another day for fear of failing to describe the difficulty in most efficiently and quickly extracting the egg from its shell with a minimum of damage. Each time I feel that I improve on my previous attempts, and I'm certain that I will soon enough manage to get it adequately right each time. Even then though, there is always room to improve on a personal best.

I Done It!

I happen to have recently come into something of a windfall recently. A roommate, finding that circumstances would prevent him from consuming a dozen eggs he had just bought, granted them to me. I have not bought eggs from the grocery store in some time, finding as I did that a dozen eggs that I buy with the best of intentions invariably are ignored and spoil. I may be changing my stance on that now as a result of a good experience.

I like hard-boiled eggs quite a bit. Inexplicably, in seeking them out at restaurants I have found that either they can't get them right or they just don't do them. Poached eggs are not the same thing. I've learned my lesson: hard-boiled eggs cannot be had with confidence at a restaurant. Since I could only trust the ones I made myself, I just couldn't have any. That just ended, as I've decided that I can muster the energy to cook them after all.

Commando Cook

I believe that I have made it clear that my natural inclination where food is concerned is to keep it simple and cheap. I favor meals that are pre-made or consist of at most three ingredients which can be combined with a bare minimum of effort and thought. This is what I do, but I appreciate that it is probably not what is best for me. Indeed, it is not even to a substantial degree what I want. I just do what is easy. Every now and then however, a little miracle happens and I manage by chance to have an excellent home-cooked meal.

What is required is an outside element. Specifically a roommate or other friend must compel me to do more. I am not a slacker who won't do anything himself or a misogynist who expects a woman to do the cooking. I just have to be nudged into it, and suddenly I'm surprising myself with previously unknown abilities in the kitchen. I can't do anything conventionally regarded as difficult, but easy to moderate dishes are within my reach.

Gas Ranger

As far as I can recall, my whole childhood we had nothing but electric ranges and ovens. Places we lived in prior to my third birthday may not have been so modern, but I think that what matters is my memory. It seemed like the most natural thing in the world that there was a coil that was black in idleness and that became bright orange when roused into action. It gave no other indication that it was hot or dangerous, and stayed both hot and dangerous for a bit after being deactivated. You couldn't do anything with it except lay a pot or pan on it. Eventually I knew there was another kind of range, but seldom if ever had use of one except when camping. What we had then were a variety of portable gas cookers. They ran on various fuels, propane, butane and other more exotic gases being among them. It's a pleasant association I make with cooking via gas.

In recent years, I have lived in some places that had a gas range instead of electric. The difference is interesting. Having an open flame adds some utility to the thing. It's a whole lot easier to ignite something by touching it to a gas burner. Marshmallows are one possibility. One must be careful about it, of course, but about any common thing one might want to be on fire can be made so with a gas burner. I like that. That's not to say that I'm doing so willy-nilly. In fact, I suppose I haven't done so except for once I can think of about three years ago. It's just always nice to know that a certain option lay before you even if you don't ever make use of it. So it was until the final couple months with the swimming pool in my old place.