If genetics were to play any part in how good one could cook, I should be a chef! My mother is an amazing cook–not only has she mastered her native Colombian food, but she’s also dabbled in Cuban, taught by her own Cuban friends and has even surpassed them in their country’s cuisine. But this, my friends, was sadly not passed on to my genes as I am the complete polar opposite of her when it comes to our skills in the kitchen.
I have never had an interest in cooking. My disdain for the culinary arts is so strong that I prefer to do dishes. Oh yes, no need to buy a dish washer here! I’m armed and ready with Palmolive on my side. You can ask my poor friends who had to put up with me in not one but TWO high school culinary arts classes, where I committed such atrocities as not knowing how to beat an egg. Yes, simply put: I am useless in the kitchen.
But lately it has come to my attention that I really need to give this area of expertise some effort. Take rice, for example… a simple staple of Latin food that should not be difficult to achieve. And though that is one thing I have been making for years now (mostly accompanied by a fried egg, but I digress…), I still cannot get it just right. One cup of rice; two cups of water; salt and oil. What’s the big deal? Well, the other night I attempted this seemingly easy feat and once again was gravely disappointed with my results. Seriously? It’s RICE! If I can’t get this right, how can I move onto the greater complexities of cooking?
I’m pretty ashamed that at 27 years old, I cannot make good rice. Actually, disgusted is more like it. It’s like the meaning of insanity, when you do the same thing over and over again expecting a different result. What gives? It’s JUST rice.
I hope to one day conquer my futility. It’s really starting to get on my nerves.