Beginning to cook.

It’s something just about everyone learns at some point but for me learning to cook was sort of different. I learned not because it interested me or because it was time so that I would one day be independent. No I learned because I was a smart ass. It also happened over a few occasions. I remember one of the first things I ever cooked was a grilled cheese sandwich (well thats what it was suppose to be). Mom had made dinner, left overs I think, what ever it was I didn’t want it and I was at a mouthy stage (I think 7 or 8 years old)  so I said I wasn’t eating it and mom told me she wasn’t making anything else so I could either make food myself or go hungry. So I decided I would. I started making a grilled cheese, which I burnt and got made and blamed the stove and the frying pan. I started again and thinking I was smart put bread in the toaster and then when it was toasted I put cheese on it and microwaved it and claimed it as “my grilled-less cheese”. It didn’t taste the same but I had done it and that was all I cared about. I had cooked. I do remember mom trying to help by giving me directions but being the independent soul I was I didn’t listen. Come to think of it I still don’t take direction when I cook. Recipes, ha. That sounds like work. I cook by trial and error. If it tastes bad, well, don’t make it again. 🙂