Most girls my age have been cooking since they were four. A slightly smaller number of girls my age have been in charge of cooking at least one meal a week in their households since they were ten until they went to college, where meals became nonexistent. It’s a general (and usually true) assumption in our culture that if you’re female, you can cook.
This is not the case with everyone.
I’m not sure if it’s just because I have a subconscious fear of electronic food preparation devices or because I simply lack the skill, but I am not competent in the kitchen. At all. Yes, I’m a girl. But cooking is a mountain I’ve yet to climb. Sure, I dally around at the base, baking pies at the appropriate seasons, whipping up pretty decent guacamole, and making a teriyaki broccoli-mushroom stir fry that’s particularly yummy with baked chicken. Aside from that, I feel like a fish out of water when it comes to all things culinary.
However, college has turned me into a health nut. I’m a bit obsessive about knowing what’s in my food. Prepackaged stuff drives me crazy. I eat salads in the dining common mostly for the benefit of knowing exactly what my meal’s ingredients are. I question the makeup of most of their casseroles. I’m not even a huge fan of eating at restaurants on a regular basis. There’s no way of knowing what you’re putting in the tank. It could be perfectly wholesome stuff—and it might not.
That, and I like the idea of using substitute ingredients to sneak more vegetables into things. If I’m ever a mother, I will be a devious one. I’ve discovered that there are ways to make pizza crust out of cauliflower, brownies out of sweet potatoes, and chocolate pudding out of avocadoes. Being the kind of person who enjoys peanut butter on her hamburgers, I am more than willing to try these things. And chances are, the only way I’m going to try them is if I make them myself.
In short, my hippie flower-child tendencies may just lead to the beginning of a new obsession.
Like I need another one.