I can’t cook.
I know this saying is banded out quite regularly but unfortunately, in my case, it is very true.
I really can’t cook.
When I moved into my flat, my family and friends asked how I was going to fend for myself with genuine concern and assumed I would be living on a diet of sandwiches and takeaways. However, I have to admit they have a point.
I once put an omelette in the oven.
Then there was the time, I once attempted to make a curry that turned into a risotto.
I even have an interesting approach to toast. I don’t like the bread fully toasted only slightly browned. I like pizza cooked but not the cheese hardened and I add runny honey to my cereal.
It’s not all bad, I can twist a jar open like nobody’s business and I never, ever give up.
I am still determined to make the perfect omelette but it’s a delicate operation. Last week, I almost got there. Unfortunately, I made the pan too hot and it the omelette was boiled instead of heated and it tasted…crispy.
This step in the right direction has been shattered as I’m currently writing this after attempting to make a mushroom omelette that willingly jumped into the bin along with the frying pan.
Even Brigid is wary of my efforts and the last time she visited I made a joke about cooking and then presented her with a choice of takeaway menus. She was visibly relieved.
Cooking for many is considered a creative talent and the love of food and an appreciation for the skills required to produce such art is renowned the world over.
Unfortunately, for me, this art form has far too many rules. Ingredients have to be measured and added at a particular time and given the law of physics is yet to be bend to my thought process I have decided to concentrate on what I love most.
The world of words has no limitations or rules and that’s exactly what blows my mind about it. The world inside my head plays a story. A song that only I can hear. Listening to my heart I write what I am meant to at the exact time I am meant to. I am following my blueprint.
Now, thousands of words in and willingly caught within the whirlwind of storytelling, I have come to understand that while I was living and learning I was feeding the story instead.
Perhaps, one day I’ll learn to cook. Until then, I will appreciate all the flavours out there and stick to what I am good at.
So, if I could leave you with one parting wish, I would like it to be this; feed your story, whatever that may be.
In the meantime, I’ll leave you with one final question; toast anyone?