Okay, I get it. Everyone who cooks loves to cook. That’s my take from watching he Food Channel. Reading food blogs. And, checking out recipes on Pinterest. I take a sip of my truth serum, Starbucks with added red eye. For the non-coffee drinker, a red eye is a shot of espresso. Make it a double, por favor. Me? It’s not that I don’t like cooking, I like so many other things so much better. I like watching ESPN. I like exercising. I like drinking coffee. I like staring at sunsets. I like staring at my iPhone. I place cooking on the same level as flossing and brushing. I have to do it. It’s good for my health.
For me, cooking comes down to choices. I can choose to go out to eat or I can cook at home. If I choose to eat out, oh the choices. I’m not paying for a heart attack on a plate or stuffed into a to-go bag. I don’t want salmonella wrapped in a large tortilla. I want to eat as healthy out as I eat at home. This is where the rubber hits or the road or the skillet sits on the stove. I think about my choices, until ….
I read the San Antonio Health Department inspection reviews. You a fan of horror stories? Check them out. You like to live on the edge? You can put your life on the line with any D rated restaurant. I’d rather skydive. Swim with killer sharks. Or, babysit. Let me help you make the decision. The following are word for word from the city’s health inspection site:
- Observed tortilla dough stored in grocery bags.
- Vegetables from the field, not processed to remove dirt and bacteria, should not be stored above ready to eat and processed vegetables.
- During the time of inspection raw bacon was being stored alongside uncooked biscuit dough.
- Not clean. Food debris was observed on inside surface of lids on top of the cooler where lettuce, tomato, and other condiments are stored are not clean.
The reports are from four different restaurants with respectable reputations. Who calls the toilet first? It is for this reason when I go to a restaurant, I slowly sip my drink and watch the people with whom I’m dining dig in. I give them a minute before I sample the cuisine. If I don’t see any adverse reaction. It’s okay to eat. Do you think I’m being a bit tacky? I’m the safety net. I have my iPhone in hand. I punched in 911 and all I have to do is call. Caution is the operative word. I don’t want to get descriptive on what the downside looks like. Although, I know some guys who went to high school with me might like that kind of humor.
Here’s what I don’t like about cooking. I really, really try hard to cook healthy. The health inspector will give me an A if I had a surprise visit. It takes me anywhere from 40 minutes to an hour to prepare and cook my dinner. He’s only cooking for one you say. I hear you. I need an efficiency expert. Where is Bobby Flay? Raise your hand. Not you. You’re not Bobby Flay. You’re Bobby Filet. That’s not the way he spells his name. Security!
I set the table. I treat my food with respect. I say grace before I eat. I raise my drink and toast Babe. I eat. fifteen to twenty minutes later I’m done. It takes me a half hour to clean up, make sure the kitchen area is germ-free for breakfast. Let’s add it up. Ninety minutes of not eating time. Fifteen minutes of eating time. Thinking about this, I moved cooking ahead of brushing and flossing. I moved it ahead of cleaning the shower. It right up there with cleaning the ….
I love to cook, I just don’t like the cleaning up part.
Call me strange, but I even enjoy the clean up, especially washing the dishes.
I enjoy the convenience of the dishwasher; yet, find cooking relaxing. Go figure.
I, too, find cooking relaxing. It’s likely the ritual, the thought and preparation, and of course the end result (when it turns out good).