It is not that I can’t cook. And by cook I do not mean ordering take-away, pre-prepared meals, or heating up left-overs. It is just that I really get no joy out of it. But that is probably reasonable: I eat to live, not live to eat. This probably explains why I can spend extended time on cruise ships and return home at the same weight or less. According to my industry friends – the average gain is about 2.5 kg for a 7-10 day cruise.
I also don’t like to clean, but very few people do. But that has little to do with cooking. I am a wizard at finding and disposing of “expired” food and foodlike items in the fridge that are past safe eating. Disposing can include, but is not limited to dropping in the bio-container, throwing in the trash, emptying and tossing the container in the recycle, or just leaving the whole mess in the sink. The last is a hint to the other members of the household that “use it or toss it” is also in their wheelhouse.
As a result, I am really appreciative of the cooking done by Noah and George. I also have no problem eating the same thing day after day after day. Food is fuel. This probably means that I sometimes forget to be grateful that they are doing the cooking since I would be equally happy oatmeal, soup, or microwave omelets as anything fancy.
And, by the looks of the empty shelves after I finished my most recent raid – it looks like a trip to the grocery store is in order.
That I don’t mind.
