I’m not a bad cook. I could absolutely keep myself alive if you locked me in a room with a hob and the basics, it just wouldn’t be pretty. And that’s because I hate it. If they invented a pill tomorrow that meant you never needed to eat (and therefore cook) another meal in your life, I would take it in a heartbeat. I seem to have the uncanny ability to surround myself with people who enjoy putting time and effort into making something one could reasonably call ‘a dish’ and… whisper it… Seasoning things.
I just can’t be doing with it all. I will always feel very guilty when people cook for me because I cannot fathom how anybody could possibly derive any enjoyment from choosing to make things that take time and effort, over choosing to make things that are over quickly. It’s just a completely alien concept. I like to bake things occasionally, but that’s different in that it often leads to cake.
Anyway, the point of this is that I’m cooking in my kitchen for the first time since I moved here and brown rice takes bloody ages.