The Reasons I Don’t Cook

I am capable of warming up leftovers or pitching hotdogs in boiling water, but full-fledged prepping and cooking a meal is asking a bit much of me. To begin, throwing both adjustments to time and temperature considerations at me in a single process is optimistic at best and more likely perilous. And then when you throw cups, qt., tsp., tbsp. in my lap or suddenly flip over to mL, I’m likely to forgo eating or simply drink down a couple of raw eggs.

Cooking is hard.

I am always wanting to shake rather than stir, and I don’t want to flip anything. I also struggle with being forced to let this cool or that rise. And my idea of chopping is a bit too “western” for a lot of stuff. With hotdogs, I boil them until they split and call it good.

Nonetheless, when Desiree is preparing several dishes at once, I sometimes offer to help. “I’m fine,” she’ll sing. If I grab a knife or make a bold move in the kitchen, she’ll wince and say, “Jeez, I think I just saw something outside the window.”

“Something?”

“Yeah… a weird thing flew by. Maybe you should go out there and look around.”

“Okay, I’ll go look. That’s a good idea.”

Thankfully, Desiree is a great cook. It’s also surprising how often she spots weird stuff outside the window when she’s cooking.

Desiree Prepping

—Mitchell Hegman