Secrets From A Fat.. SO?!

I Can Cook Anything!

When I was a little kid, I thought the only thing you needed to be able to cook was any two ingredients. How quickly I learned otherwise. I blame the Easy Bake Oven. It gave me false hope that by mixing little bags of instant goo and sticking it an “oven” aka lightbulb, it meant I could be a master chief! When in reality I was anything but.

As a kid, my mom encouraged any interest I had. When I wanted to learn how to cook, she sent me to the Ritz Carlton cooking class where we spent an afternoon making a gourmet lunch. Needless to say, I don’t remember a damn thing about that day except for feeling very proud and accomplished of myself.

Then there were other times as a child when I attempted to cook. My mom bought me a childrend’s cookbook that my nose was glued into whenever I remembered to get my sticky little fingers hold of it. For a child’s cook book, it had well over a hundred recipies and something for every occasion. And I remember wistfully sighing and pleading to my mother if I could make this or that and always recieving the same answer, no! I don’t ever remember why it was no, but it was good enough to stop my protestings till I picked the book back up again. Maybe if I had been more insistant she would have finally said yes. Instead, when I was alone and on whims, I would find my own ways of creating what I needed.

I can only remember creating three things out of that entire book, all of them utter and complete failures. I’ve never been good at following or understanding instructions no matter how hard I try, and you’ll see why shortly. The first thing I can admitedly remember cooking outside the easy bake oven were brownies. It started out with a box. I don’t remember if my mom was with me or not but I remember the proud warm glow of accomplisment I felt after the brownies were pulled out of the oven. Then I did it again, and then again. Sometimes I took matters into my own hands, mostly as a surprise for my mom, and sometimes not. Then one day, bored, home alone while my mother worked and brownie box free, I pulled out my cookbook. I saw a recipie for brownies from scratch and as I checked off the list of all must have ingredients, I thought, I can do this! Won’t my mother be proud of me?!

Little be known to me, I read the opposite page and thought it called for three cups of salt and three cups of sugar! They were the only ingredient misinterpreted but never the less, they were the wrong ones to make! My mother says she remembers the brownies having a slightly white frosting but I remember them as perfect, till I took a knife and cut into them. There was an inch of nothing but pure white and a qurater inch toping of chocolate. Tears wielded up in my eyes and I bawled out, I don’t understand! I followed the directions! My mother just flipped through the book till we figured out how I could have strayed so far from the original recipie.

I’d like to say that my cooking has improved since then, but I can’t. I haven’t made the same mistake but then again I haven’t tried to make brownies from scratch again either. I know that I will never be the next Iron Chef or even Paula Deen. But I dream that someday I will beable to cook deliciously beautiful food. I dream of serving Martha Stewart looking brownies on doiley’s, as long as the brownies didn’t come out of a box. And maybe someday I will. Who knows. But this girl knows how to dream. And not to mix salt with brownies.

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