Confession: I can’t cook.
Well, maybe I should say I won’t cook, and that’s because I’m terrible at it. I have absolutely zero natural instincts for cooking, and even the most elementary of recipes will confound my culinarily-challenged brain. I even
fucked up got creative with a simple rice pudding recipe a couple of months ago. I’m a complete disaster in the kitchen, and I was reminded of this again last week.
The Boy and I had planned to cook a simple meal together, as we’ve done many times before, however, it seems almost all of the cooking we’ve done has been at his place. He’d brought over all of the necessary ingredients for what we were going to make, along with a few kitchen tools he figured I didn’t have (he figured correctly). The menu for the evening was a creamy pasta dish with chicken and spinach: simple, yes? (nervous laughter) Eager to get started so that we could eat, The Boy asked where a pot to boil water would be in my kitchen. I froze. I don’t even own a pot, people. This is the sad state of affairs that is my complete and utter lack of cooking skills.
After me briefly getting upset with myself for being so laughably unequipped with even the most basic of kitchen necessities (The Boy did laugh about it for awhile: out of love, I hope), I took us out to dinner instead. On the way there, we were laughing about the situation that got us there. The tail end of the conversation went like this:
Me: “I’m more of a bachelor than you are.”
The Boy, incredulously: “I know!”
There you have it, folks. Disaster.
Wanting to redeem myself, I volunteered to make a cobbler completely from scratch for an upcoming dinner party. Armed with a recipe from my uncle that he’d dictated to me over the phone because he doesn’t really have a recipe for it (cue minor panic attack), I set out to create a dessert that would blow everyone away and prove that I can, in fact, whip up a miracle in the kitchen if I feel like it. (Or at least make something that’s edible.) Here, in photos, is the cobbler adventure, step-by-step…
Step one: preheating the oven, which doesn’t have numbers on the temperature dial. It’s like it WANTS me to fail.
Combining the crust ingredients.
The crust dough lines the dish, with fork holes to aerate.
Mixing up the ingredients for the berry filling. So. Much. Sugar.
Creating the dough circles for the top crust.
The cobbler is ready for its final voyage into the oven. (More sugar. And butter. My god, the butter.)
The finished product! Though it didn’t turn out as pretty as my uncle’s cobbler always does,
it didn’t come out charred or otherwise unidentifiable, which is the best I could hope for.
When all was said and done, I’m very happy to report that the cobbler was a rousing success, and has been requested for future gatherings. To be fair, any dessert with the copious amounts of sugar, butter and Crisco that go into this cobbler has to taste good. That said, I spent the time and combined the ingredients, so I’m taking the credit. Kitchen redemption: earned.
And The Boy and I did end up making the pasta dish a few nights ago, at his place, where he has a pot.