Damn I hate cooking.
Just spent an hour and a half banging around the kitchen throwing possibly edible combinations of stuff together. I don't believe in recipes (really, they don't exist as long as I don't look at them!) so it's always an adventure to eat what I make. A sad, sort of pathetic adventure filled with heartburn and gas.
Yeah, I hate cooking and I'm pretty bad at it. But even more than that, I hate angry cooking. Because nothing feels better than throwing an onion against the wall, stabbing some carrots, or mashing some innocent lentils as hard and fast as you can. This afternoon, I may or may not have crushed an over-ripe Roma tomato between my palms in a fit of rage.
Cooking is my grown-up tantrum.
I do tend to feel better after an hour of smashing, stabbing, and chopping, but I wonder if food absorbs the emotion you have while you are cooking. It'd be fitting if what I affectionately (passive-aggressively ?) refer to as my 'angry lentils' really are as pissed off as I am.
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