Pre-cooked = pre-awesome

I'm sure you've seen these boxes of Indian food at your local grocery store.  Inside the box is actually a silver pouch full of amazing things.  Trader Joe's (the land of cheap groceries and cute cashiers) has their own brand, and I've been buying it buy the dozen. 

You see, I've tried making Indian food before.  It is impossible.  In fact, I can't wrap my small-town American brain around any ethnic food, except for the fact that it is delicious.  I had never even seen hummus until I went to college - that's what we're working with here. 

Anyway, technology has made it possible to fully cook and preserve impeccable food at a low cost, which makes these weird silver bags full of curry lentils my new best friend.  All you have to do is sit the bag into a pot of water and let it heat up to your desired temperature.  If you have the luxury of a microwave (well aren't you lucky), just plop it in a bowl and zap it for a minute.  There's enough in one bag for one meal if you eat it by itself, or if you combine it will some rice you can have some leftover.  These are one of the few things I don't mind eating for dinner one night and lunch the next. 

I find myself asking, though, is this even cooking?  Or does this fall more into the category of "preparing" food, just like my beloved kale and avocado salad?  And is this why I'll probably never be good at cooking?  Because honestly, it's too easy not cooking, because everything is already cooked.

Food for thought.

Before, during, and after

I think my lack of cooking ambition is rooted in my lack of patience.  Sure, there are things that you can "prepare" quickly, but actually cooking a meal consists of three stages: planning, execution, and cleanup. 

Planning

This is the first (and most critical) stage of the cooking process and the one that I usually don't pass.  Here's how it goes:

What do I want to eat?  I'll have to find a recipe.  Now I can't decide between these recipes.  Do we have that ingredient at home?  Probably not. I'll have to go to the store.  Ugh, the store.  I'll have to leave work either early or late so that I don't hit the huge rush.  Maybe I should invite someone over to cook with?  No it's too late for that.  Man, now I'm not sure, this sounds like a lot of work.  Fine… GrubHub wins.

Execution

Usually if I get to this stage I'll followthrough to the end, but not without an identity crisis along the way.

All right, I have everything I need.  Oh wait, where's the garlic?  I totally had some garlic here the other day.  Oh crap, the roommie must have used some, or maybe me.   Ugh, I can't go back to the store I'm already wearing slippers and an apron.  WHAT AM I SUPPOSED TO DO WITHOUT GARLIC.  Ugh, fine, I'll just put something else in there.  Maybe some salt.  Can you substitute salt for garlic?  Lord hep me.  [Thirty minutes later]  THIS IS TAKING FOREVER.  This is why microwavable burritos exist.  Am I even still hungry?

Cleanup

Even if stages one and two were completed without a single hiccup, this stage always slaps me right in the face.

Wow, I have impressed myself.  I made actual food!  That was great!  Go me!  Holy crap, where did all of these dishes come from?  Wait, are these all mine?  From making that one pot of soup?  SERIOUSLY?  And what is that smell?  Oh geez, there's onion everywhere.  HOW DID IT GET ON THE CEILING?  This is impossible.  I'm going to go to bed and maybe the dishwashing fairy will come and do these for me or at least tear a hole in the wall and install a dishwasher.  Thank you in advance, fairy.

And there you have it.  The three dreadful stages of cooking.  I supposed it's now my job to figure out how to make them all work together somehow.  But how?  I'll let you know when I figure that out.

Non-meat Meat

This blog has turned into more of a conceptual stream of cooking consciousness rather than an actual learn-how-to-cook project, but I think that's okay.  Because really, I'm never going to commit to this if I don't understand what it is I'm committing to and why I'm committing to it. 

As I mentioned in my first post on this blog, my darling roommate is a staunch vegan, which I appreciate and respect. The amazing kale and avocado salad I made yesterday never would have happened if it weren't for her, because why on Earth would I try kale at all if our fridge wasn't half-full of it all the time?

But other things come with the vegan territory - like tempeh, seitan, tofu, and other various plant-based substances that often resemble jello.  These foods usually makeup the "fake meat" category of the vegan diet.  Even if you go to an all-vegan restaurant, the menu will day "sesame chicken", "bbq pork", "meatball sub", etc.  This has always been a strange concept to me, because I feel as though a lot of people are missing out on some awesome food.  Let me explain.

My father, a born and breed redneck from the back country of North Carolina, kills multiple deer every hunting season and has a year's supply of meat in his freezer at all times.  He will not even try a food if it's labelled "mock" or "vegetarian".  There's some sort of block in his brain that tells him it will taste horrible (and sometimes it does, especially compared to an endless supply of venison).  But one time I introduced him to seitan, a juicy, flavorful ingredient made from wheat.  "It isn't "mock" anything - it's just seitan," I said.  He said it wasn't terrible, which I counted as a success.

You see, I think we should all start thinking of these "alternatives" as actual foods and not just as substitutes for something we can't have.  I mean, I can have chicken, and I do, often.  But I also like tempeh, especially when fried.  I'll even eat both at the same time.  Thus, by having a vegan roommate, my dietary options have basically doubled, and it's a wonderful thing.

So don't think of seitan or tofu or tempeh as fake anything - just accept it as it is.  DELICIOUS.

Proportions and left overs

This rice is magic.  It's from Trader Joe's, it's cheap, it's fast to make, and it's tasty.  Last night I made a batch and followed the directions on the back of the bag precisely.  The smallest serving size called for one cup of rice and two cups of water.  "Okay!  Great!" I said. "It's just me so one serving is fine."

But no.  Oh no.  One cup of rice could feed a small African village for a week, apparently.  I took off the lid after the 15 minute cooking time was over and BAM the pot was full of rice.  I mean, we all know that rice swells when it cooks because it absorbs the water, but HOLY CRAP I'm pretty sure they genetically engineered this rice to reproduce like rabbits at a certain temperature.

I found myself at a crossroads.  Do I eat more now so that I don't have to eat this for the next three days?  Do I freeze it?  Can I cook it again with something else so that it doesn't taste the same tomorrow?  Only in the first world is having an abundance of food a problem.

Here's the thing: I'm not a fan of leftovers.  I like variety.  I like different tastes everyday at every meal.  Leftovers usually just sit in the fridge until I find them in the back a month later and discard them to make use of the Tupperware they're occupying (see image below).  And this begs the question: why don't I just cook less?  That's the thing!  I followed the instructions!  I can't not follow the instructions because that's when frying pans melt and ovens explode!  Are the ingredients always proportional?  Will 1/2 cup of rice and 1 cup water yield the same results?  My grandma didn't have an answer for me because she doesn't even use measuring cups.  She just 'eyeballs' it. 

Great.  Master chefs use their natural, uncanny proportion abilities while the rest of use are left with measuring cups to fend for ourselves. 

Non-cooking cooking

Lesson learned today: bare hands are magic.  As is guacamole.

Ingredients used:

   * Kale (I don't know, like, 4 handfuls?  It was quite a bit and I had a lot left over)
   * 1 avocado (just use half if you're making it for yourself)
   * Red onion (loads)
   * Garlic (double loads)
   * Cumin (4 pinches)
   * Salt (does anyone actually measure this?)
   * Pepper (")

My kitchen experiments as of late have lead me to something amazing: non-cooking cooking.  I supposed this could be described as just "preparing" or "making" but I'm going to stick with "cooking" because it allows me to fool myself into thinking that this blog is making progress.  Just give me the benefit of the doubt, as usual.

Last night I had in my possession a bag of raw kale, an avocado, a red onion, and some garlic.  I immediately ignored the kale (because it's kale) and screamed "GUACAMOLE TIME!"  I started to do a happy dance and realized that I didn't have any chips, and that walking to the store at 2am would probably result in getting shot, so I decided to compromise. 

I'd heard  the term "avocado salad" before but I was never quite sure what that meant.  "So you use chunks of avocado instead of lettuce?  Is the dressing made of avocado?  THIS IS ALL VERY UNCLEAR."  This is how wonderful experiments happen.  I dove in and dumped the kale into a giant mixing bowl.  Then I gutted the avocado and added copious amounts of red onion and garlic.  Then it got dirty.

I couldn't find any sort of instrument to properly mash the avocado and kale together, so after using three different spoons and five spatulas I went in with my hand and just started squeezing it all together.  Bare hands are magic, apparently, because the avocado became this smooth, buttery spread that softened and marinated the kale all at the same time, while the onion and the garlic became infused and made me cry several times.

After washing my hands for twenty minutes, I performed a taste test.  It tasted like bland, mediocre guacamole and kale.  Here's the desperate thought process that followed: "OH. Oh dear.  That's not great.  Um, okay.  So once I made some super awesome guacamole that was basically like this but what else is missing?  Crap I can't remember.  OKAY.  Guacamole is usually served at mexican restaurants and everything there always has cumin in it.  CUMIN let's try cumin!  Lord help me."

I added the cumin and some salt and some pepper and BAM.  It was done.  It was perfect.  I MADE TASTEY FOOD. My taste buds were satisfied and I had tricked myself into eating something healthy.  Job well done, Jason, job well done.

POSSIBLE HACK:  Get some kale.  Get some pre-made guacamole.  Combine.  DONE. 

Warning: this blog is probably going to turn into a non-cooking cooking blog.  Just prepare yourself for that.

Why cooking?

 You must be asking yourself: of all the things in the universe one could blog about, you chose cooking.  Cooking.  I know, the world could use another cooking blog like it could use an international nuclear war.  But, just this once, let me argue my case.

Cooking is a part of life and culture that I have never *actually* experienced.  Sure I watched my dad cook dinner when I was younger (which was mostly just frying deer meat), and no one can touch my grandma on Thanksgiving.  But for me, personally, cooking is a mystical concept that has always been slightly out of reach.  I've tried before, purchasing a beginners cookbook and lots of neon-colored measuring spoons, hoping that I would all of a sudden become inspired.  But alas, I always ended up on the kitchen floor in a ball of buttery disappointment, with my phone to my ear ordering Chinese food.

I love the idea of cooking: putting effort and love into this organic material while you stir it around in a pot at a certain temperature until it changes shape and color and consistency, and then it goes into your body and becomes a part of you.  It's mind blowing, honestly.  Welcome to philosophy 101.  But really, I want to have friends over for a feast and say with pride "Welcome to my home! Let's eat!" without them asking for a friendship refund.  I want to eat food that I made and say to myself "OH MY GOD did you make that yourself?"  I want to become more patient and experience cooking as it is supposed to be: an actual experience.

So yes.  Thank is why this blog exists.  Thanks for putting up with it.

Ground Zero

To gauge my cooking success, I need to establish a control variable.  I think the easiest way to do that is to cook something and show you.  My current skill level is:

RAMEN

Truly, Ramen noodles are the best way to describe my cooking abilities, because I can cook them correctly every single time.  I can't exactly do that with anything else.  That's what makes me a horrible chef - consistent inconsistency. 

Once, I made an amazing batch of spicy curry lentils.  They were not too mushy, had the red color of a dazlling sunset, and had the radiant heat of an Indian summer.  They melded perfectly with an equally amazing batch of basmati rice.  When I tried to make the same thing again a week later, I melted a frying pan.  What can I say?  Success comes in waves.  Violent, unpredictable waves.

It's often when these waves come crashing down that I simply give up, stop trying, and stick with what I know.  My perpetual fear of failure prevents me from even getting close to making anything more complicated than "add water, boil, serve immediately."  So, my real goal here is to force myself to actually try. 

Next week, we will master the art of steaming Kale.  (I'm nervous)

Bon appétit!

Before Cooking: An Introduction

Welcome to Undercooking, the digital stories of a horrible chef.

Don't let the title fool you.  I overcook things just as often.  While I enjoy mocking my ability to boil water incorrectly, my actual hope is that this blog will chronicle my journey from being a horrible cook to a seasoned, mediocre one.  As a twenty-something living in an over-priced city who has no money to spend on the world-class take-out surrounding him, this project is far overdue.  Money must be saved.  Waistlines must be spared.

A few notes about my kitchen that will be helpful to know:

• My roommate is vegan, and we use all the same cook and dishware, so I can only cook vegan things.  (Wait... am I basically going vegan?)
• We have no microwave.  I have no idea why.  This makes heating and re-heating things exponentially more difficult.
• I don't like most vegetables, especially raw.  My roommate has gotten me to explore the likes of broccoli and kale, but that's as far as I'll go.
• This already looks like a bad idea.
• We have pink salt and kosher salt and sea salt and regular salt.  I don't know the difference between any of them.
• There is not enough space on this page to list all the different kinds of cooking oil in our cabinet.
• Our stove and oven are gas appliances and work pretty well.  Our exhaust fan and stove lights do not.
• We do have an amazing blender and (hopefully) all the necessary cookware any aspiring mediocre chef would need.
• The only available electrical outlet is on the opposite side of the kitchen from the counter, rendering the amazing blender as a cookbook stand.

Each week I hope to master a new, simple cooking skill, such as al dente pasta or roasting vegetables (I've heard they're bearable that way).  Depending on time and resources, if I fail at said skill, I will keep trying until I get it right.

If you are also a horrible cook, I'd love for you to go on this journey with me!  E-mail (myfriendantony@gmail.com) me stories and photos of failures and successes.  They will definitely be posted on the internet in the name of solidarity.  Also, I need as much advice as humanly possible.  So use the comments section liberally!

As beacons of hope, I will leave you with two of my greatest kitchen heroes: Hannah Hart of My Drunk Kitchen, and the Vegan Black Metal Chef.  May they be inspirations to you all.