By Sarah Pye
Living Editor
I’m new to cooking on my own.
Living off campus, I’ve been forced to graduate from the two week rotation of Caf cuisine. Though garlic tortellini night tempts me back every once in a while, for the most part I’ve been thrown blindly into new and uncharted territory: the kitchen.
Before coming to Pepperdine, I had prepared maybe four meals for myself, three of which definitely involved peanut butter.
However, being an eager and reasonably intelligent almost-20-year-old, I figured it was time to graduate from Skippy and attempt something that requires heating.
Upon acquisition of my own apartment, I promptly decided that cooking was not that hard. Throw some ingredients in the microwave, or possibly blender, and nine times out of 10 you’ll come out with something that probably won’t kill you.
It often helps to close your eyes when eating foods cooked using this method.
So the problem here is not that I cannot cook. The problem is that, when cooking for myself, I only fix things that I like to eat. And the problem with this is that I eat like a 5-year-old.
My real downfall is vegetables. Many 5-year-olds don’t eat vegetables. I don’t eat vegetables. Ever. They are evil.
Now there are surely some readers out there saying to themselves, “Surely she must eat some vegetables. It is impossible to live on highly processed, hermetically sealed, food-like products alone. What is keeping this woman alive?”
It is indeed a mystery that I have not yet keeled over from severe and total lack of nutrients. My theory is that the additional elements of my continual failure to ever exercise or, in many cases, sleep, has thrown my body into such a state of shock that it does not have enough energy left to simply stop working.
But back to the vegetables. I remain mystified as to when I was magically supposed to have begun liking them.
At some point, most people reach a level of maturity at which they can say to themselves, “Although I do not particularly like the flavor of boiled Brussels sprouts, I recognize that they are full of important nutritional properties such as beta-hydro-ribo-thyroid fiber, and if I eat them I will grow strong and healthy and someday in good conscience be able to force my unsuspecting children to eat them, as well.”
I keep waiting for this day to come. But, as of yet, it sadly has not. At this point, when I look at a Brussels sprout, the only thought that comes to my mind is something that sounds vaguely, in my head, like: “Eww.”
Generally, when classifying foods, I can put them into two basic food categories: Foods I Will Eat, and Foods That Are Yucky.
The Foods I Will Eat category is very limited. As such, its contents can be described in a mere four words: things banned by Atkins.
This is true. If I went on the Atkins diet, I predict that within a maximum of six hours I would, in fact, be dead. Everything I eat is either a carbohydrate or made entirely of chocolate.
But any diet that strictly forbids breath mints tends to make me rather suspicious, anyhow. Is fresh breath mutually exclusive to thinness?
By contrast, the Yucky Foods category is rather extensive, a fact to which those who know me can attest. There are people I have been friends with for upwards of two years who claim they have never seen me eat anything but hamburgers and fries.
This, of course, is blatant exaggeration. There was doubtlessly a chocolate shake on the table at some point, as well.
But enough writing. It’s time to go throw a Hershey’s bar and some pasta in the blender and see what happens.
I’ll be sure to drink it with my eyes closed.
September 11, 2003