Water bubbled vivaciously in the silver pot on the stove. I gently placed a handful of spaghetti into the boiling water. The noodles melted into the pot and then there was smoke. Smoke? I thought the same thing. Where was this smoke coming from? Not from the oven. Not from crumbs on the stove, either. No, it was the pasta. The pasta caught on fire. How do you burn pasta? Good question. I left the spaghetti resting on the edge of the hot pot, and the next thing I knew my pasta was up in flames. It was in that moment I knew that cooking could be crossed off my list of talents. Cooking, unless I'm cooking something frozen.
Pizza, stir-fry, veggies, mashed potatoes, you name it. I can cook it. Well, I can cook it as long as it's frozen. Gordon Ramsey would be ashamed, but it's okay because Chef Boyardee would be proud. Thank you to the frozen food aisle for giving me a second chance at life. If it weren't for you, and my loving, talented parents, of course, I would go hungry.
Growing up I loved to bake, so pre-heating an oven and setting a timer has become second nature. However, the minimal skills required for cooking a pot of pasta, making pancakes or mastering a grilled cheese sandwich are far below sub-par. Pressing buttons on the microwave and turning on the toaster oven, easy peasy. With a lot of practice, I'm sure I could manage, but I'm honestly afraid to give cooking a second chance. After all the mishaps I've had in the kitchen my motivation has been completely obliterated.
I'm certainly no Julia Child. That's no secret, but thanks to the frozen food aisle I can at least pretend to be. Thanks to frozen food for giving me a chance to be independent.