I have bumped up against an unpleasant reality. I don’t know how to cook.
I can read. I can follow a recipe, and I can usually succeed at the above. But I can’t really cook. I don’t have scores of recipes or dishes wrought of my own experimentation. I get by.
Especially over here in Europe. There is some sort of subtle differences between even the basics, dairy, flour, and probably the baking powder. My pancakes have been less than impressive over here, at the least.
Part of me would really like to conquer this realm, despite it being so stereotypically girly. This year is a good place to begin. But where to start? And it seems a hard thing to seem justifiable to spend time and effort on. But I tend to devalue the merit of pretty much anything, so I shouldn’t trust myself.
I have also discovered I am the biggest recipe hater. No legitmate reason, expect when I’m restrained by what ingredients are on hand and forced to improvise. I have a lot of misplaced confidence in myself. Thus, I frequently deviate outside of my gastronomic knowledge, often to my detriment.
I can cook to please myself, but it’s time to move on and put a little dedication into it.
“‘ I couldn’t care less what she’ll wear or what she looks like. It all depends on what she cooks like.'” Mulan