I don’t cook that often.
My obsessiveness leads me to constantly rework the same thing over and over and over again until I’m finally happy with the finished product and then I will continue to make that thing and nothing else to the end of my days.
I have a recipe for chocolate chip cookies that is exactly where I want it. The spread is perfect. The chewiness is where it needs to be.
They. Are. Perfect.
Same with the gin martini. I have all the ingredients. I have the ratios. I have it where I want it.
But I don’t get any joy out of it. Just a deep satisfaction that is based more on fulfilling some sort of BS neurosis.
Also, my blog is becoming more and more navel gazing.
I think I’m going to need to do five or six more beer reviews before the thirty days is up.
I don’t enjoy trying new things because it means I have to start that process again. The process of getting it right. The constant headbutting against the wall, over and over again until I get it where I want it to be and then the goddamn relief when I finally do have it where I want it. It’s locked in and I can just enjoy it for what it is without worrying about screwing around with it anymore.
At the end of the day, there’s a part of me that asks what’s the point of doing something at all if I can’t do it right?
Christ, this went to a depressing place for me. I honestly just started this wanting to share my cookie recipe.
Today, I nearly set fire to an ear of corn.
It wasn’t on purpose. I generally like my corn non- carbonized. As I’ve mentioned in a few other blog posts, my cooking skills are not quite up to par. So I’ll do things like roll corn cob in some butter and throw it in a pan that’s way too hot and then the fire alarm just won’t stop shrieking and my lunch is ruined.
Part of the reason is that I’m strangely reluctant to learn a new recipe. When I do, I hold onto it and never let go. I’ll make it and remake it until it tastes the way I want it and then I’ll never think about it again. Everytime I decide that I’m going to learn something new, it takes me a couple of days just to think of something to try. I’m overwhelmed by the options.
Do I want to make a dinner or a dessert? What about breakfast? And what kind of meat? And should there be meat? Meat can be a pain to work with. Maybe I’ll do something simple. What about eggs? Which is how I end up making scrambled eggs for the fifth day in a row.
Or I’ll do something really easy like, say, try and cook cook. I’ll flip through the recipes, decide they’re either too much work or involve ingredients and tools I don’t have so I do a half-assed job trying to cobble together the easiest recipes. Sometimes this turns out ok, like with my fried bananas. Other times, I end up with a flaming cob.
What I need is someone to sporadically tell me, “Dylan, make this.” And then I’ll have to learn how to do it. That would cut out the indecisiveness out of the equation and then I could just focus on doing a good job. Or I could just keep eating ramen.
I haven’t talked about it much, but I do a fair amount of cooking. I’ve long ago conquered the egg and ramen is no longer beyond me. After all this experience, I’ve decided to share with you, my lucky readers, a recipe I made up just yesterday. I call it Lil Griddlin’s, because cutesy names hide the despair.
A half pound or so of ground meat
Some cheese from the back of the fridge
Whoops, almost forgot the onion
So what you want to do is chop up the onion and put it in a frying pan at about medium heat. Then have a panic attack when you smell burning onions and you realize that you forgot to put in the oil. Put in some oil, you dingus.
While that’s getting mushy and oily, mix up some salt and pepper into the meat. Throw in some cheese, because why the hell not? Cheese is good.
Make three or so irregularly shaped patties and drop them into the oil and onion mixture. Everything should now smell pretty good. Congratulate yourself. Flip the patties a couple times until you get bored.
Slash one of the patties and take a gander inside. Recoil at the sight of bright pink meat. Holy shit, these are still raw. Hack at all three patties until everything (the patties, you and the wall) is coated in hot oil. There shouldn’t be any pink left.
Take the remains of the patties and scoop them onto a plate. This does not look appetizing. Cover it with some more cheese in an attempt to cover your shame. Squirt mustard on it and enjoy your Lil Griddlins!
Best enjoyed in the dark by yourself.
I have a theory and it involves deliciousness. My hypothesis is this: if you were to feed an animal enough something, that animal would taste like that something. To wit; if you were to feed a chicken a substantial amount of pepper, the chicken would then arrive at the dinner table pre-peppered.
Which leads to me to the most potentially delicious thing ever:
The Pudding Rabbit
A pudding rabbit in its natural habitat.
If one were to feed a bunny rabbit sufficient quantities of pudding, I believe you would then have a pudding flavored rabbit. It’s simple science, explained with graphs and numbers and things that I won’t post for fear of someone stealing my idea.
Just imagine the following scenario: a fluffy angora rabbit (named Butterscotch) eating butterscotch pudding, his little whiskers flecked with pudding and his little nose a-wriggling. Now THAT spells scrumptious with a capital “scrump.”
The best part: there are so many flavors of pudding that you’d have a wide assortment of flavored rabbits to choose from. Chocolate, vanilla, butterscotch and tapioca bunnies will just be the start!
I plan to start a restaurant chain that will serve, exclusively, pudding rabbits(TM). If you act now, you can get in on the ground floor of what will soon be the most adorable taste-sensation to sweep the nation.