The holidays are upon us. It's the time of year when everyone in their mid-20s starts to feel domestic and cozy as the weather cools down and the Christmas commercials start airing on TV. It's also the time of year when I get invited to potlucks.
The potluck is the winter version of a cookout, except it's easy for me to fake my way through a cookout. Any jackass can throw meat on a grill and wait for it to finish cooking. I'm that jackass.
With a potluck, however, things get complicated. You're expected to bring a legit DISH with INGREDIENTS. I can't tell you the last time I bought ingredients and then used them to make a final product. If it doesn't come in a frozen box, a can, or from a menu, it's probably not mine.
Let's be honest here: years of being single and living with roommates and cooking for one has left me a culinary idiot. I hear people talking about buying organic and eating local foods and I have to laugh, because it's a miracle I'm even eating at all. Every time I open my fridge to find food, it's a little mini-celebration in my head that somehow I managed to not run out of groceries again.
So, unfortunately, that's where you come in. If I'm going to be your boyfriend, I'm sorta counting on you to save my life. It's only a matter of time before these freeze-dried processed high-sodium meals just straight-up kill me. I figure if I find a girlfriend who is a foodie, she could potentially add years to my life. At this rate, I feel like I'm probably clocking out at 65, which doesn't leave a whole lot of time. I need to make it until they at least invent flying cars.
I'm not asking for prepared meals here. This isn't the 1950s. But if we're cooking for two, and I have a co-captain of the kitchen to alert me when I accidentally mix in baking soda instead of baking powder, the whole thing is gonna go a whole lot smoother. I'm going to need a hell of a lot of training, because right now I can do scrambled eggs and that's about it.
So, if you're up for the challenge of teaching a totally inept dude how to cook for himself, then we're in business. On the other hand, if you'd be embarrassed that I have no idea how to pick out produce, am totally reckless with a kitchen knife, and consider Ritz crackers with peanut butter a legitimate meal option, then I'm afraid I'd make a bad boyfriend.