It takes a certain type of genius to successfully burn 6 Yorkshire puddings that take 5 minutes to cook in the oven. I use the word burn loosely. A much better description would be incinerated, scorched, reduce to ashes or just pain destroyed.
In short, the beautiful pork dinner I was cooking for my housemates decreased in awe once the fire alarm went off. But bless Becky and Claire, they will never admit my cooking is terrible and you have to admire them for that!
I know women are meant to be goddesses in the kitchen, pouring out three beautiful meals a day, making sure the kids get their five a day and the husband gets his two portions of steak. But is it possible for women not to be able to cook?
It’s a very sad truth; but it seems uni has taken its toll on my cooking skills. Admittedly I can now drink Cider, however can not cook to save my life!
Take today for example, the second somebody stepped into the kitchen the magic (or lack of) all went. Hence the burnt Yorkshires. Give me a Westlife cd, an empty kitchen and the right utensils and miracles will happen. Maybe…?
Granted it may be making Mrs Beeton turn in her grave, but sometimes you just have to accept it, cooking is not for everyone.
And what’s wrong with fish fingers and peas for dinner? Whack in a bit of ketchup and your sorted.
Just have to hope the poor man I ended up marrying has a sense of humour; Christmas dinners may be replaced with microwavable meals and frozen veg.
Thank goodness there is still time to learn or should it be time to re-learn…
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