Picture someone who knows their way around both a grocery store and a kitchen. Someone who can pick out a handful of ingredients and turn them into something edible. An average adult, really.
Are you picturing them? OK, good. Now picture the exact opposite. That’s me.
My cooking struggles are worthy of a documentary—the antithesis of the awe-inspiring “Chef’s Table,” we’ll say. People will watch, they’ll laugh, they’ll cringe as I attempt to cook a family-size pack of chicken breasts on the George Foreman. They’ll wonder how I made it to 29.