I’ve found one of the most exciting aspects of post-college life is centered around cooking. You can’t live on PB&J and Top Ramen forever; eventually a recent grad will have to make her first foray into the trusty Better Homes and Garden Cookbook. There’s something truly rewarding about discovering a recipe, shopping for supplies, cooking the ingredients, and triumphantly tasting the completed dish. It doesn’t matter that it’s the color of dog poop, or that the edges are burned, or that you mistook cinnamon for cumin. We cooked something that wasn’t just-add-water-and-microwave, and that in itself is the ultimate victory.
That being said, over the past year, I’ve become fairly adept at feeding myself. I’m no Master Chef, but at least I can follow a recipe… or so I thought.
Blessed with a work-free, practice-free evening, today I decided to use up the lamb in our freezer with a new recipe. I was starving, so I scanned the cookbook for something easy, quick, and nutritious: Irish Stew, perfect. My tummy rumbling, I immediately began cooking. “Brown lamb.” Check. “Chop potatoes.” Check. “Saute onions and garlic.” Check. “Now cover pot and simmer for two hours.” WHAT??!!
Yup, I had fallen prey to the oldest mistake in the book: not reading the instructions before I started cooking! How many times have we made fun of Dad for those silly little mistakes? Well, he’s allowed to laugh all he wants…
Lesson learned. Now, at 8:45pm, I am sitting down to a steaming, savory bowl of Irish Stew. I know it’ll taste scrumptious, I’ve smelled its tantalizing aroma in the kitchen for the past two hours.