Cooking

Each of my five brothers is a better cook than me, even the one who does not like food. One of them can make a three course Italian feast using only Ritz crackers, olive oil, and oregano. And dessert. Maybe it’s paprika. I don’t know.

Upon hearing that Kara had partially remanded cooking duties to me a year ago, Mr. Oregano commented that I must be turning into a real gourmet chef. It is not true. I “cook” for very finicky palates and mostly from boxes and cans. Sometimes I can’t make out the tiny directions. There is room on the box back for 14 point font but they use tiny 10 point so they will have room for exotic recipes on how to diversify the use of their product (like, seriously, who’s going to make Hamburger Helper quiche or cider?) I just want to know how to make it look like the picture on the front! When I can’t read the directions, I have Natalie read them to me. The problem is she doesn’t know how to read fractions yet (one one line two cups water). It can get interesting.

So I am hopeless as a chef, but I maybe I can compensate with the pen. For example, yesterday for lunch I prepared delicate miniature pasta ringlets immersed in a can-ripened tomato puree with a whisper of Wisconsin cheddar and potassium chloride.