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So y’all, I have a secret to tell. It’s one that will make most Southerners shake their heads or clutch their chest in disbelief….and Lord knows, it’s shameful.
*Deep Breath*
Okay. Here goes. I, Aleta Kaylee, am not a cook. I’m not. I am a baker. I am not a cook. See, in baking, it’s precise. Precision, I can handle. I can follow a recipe down to the T. Following closely to a tried and true recipe, I can do. But cooking…well, cooking is a whole different ball game.
Cooking is not about precision. Cooking, you can add a little of this, a dash of that, sprinkle in some spices….and bing, bang, boom…Dinner is ready. I’m not one of those “little of this, a dash of that” type girls…I need it to be in black and white. I need it to be exact. I need specific amounts. Like “a teaspoon of this, a tablespoon of that.” Admittedly, I have no “chill” and hate guestimation.
And I mean, how does one just automatically have a built-in knowledge of spices?? I do not understand! I wasn’t born with that knowledge. Maybe it is my lack of practice in the kitchen? Maybe it’s my impatience with trial and error? When I make something…I want to know that the end result will be edible. Otherwise, it is a waste of my time.
I have ultimately concluded that there are bakers in this world; those that crave specific instructions. And then there are cooks; those that can happily fly by the seat of their pants. There is only a small percentage of people that are truly good at both.
Now that was a very long prelude into this…but I have got to share with y’all a proud moment that I experienced over the weekend.
On Sunday evening, I cooked mashed potatoes for the very first time. Now, before you go getting excited. They were boxed mashed potatoes. I know! OH THE HORROR!!!
It’s almost laughable now, I had mom pick up chicken from Hitchcocks, and I told her I would help cook the sides. The menu included: Macaroni and Cheese (of the Kraft variety), mashed potatoes, and green beans. Well, mom had to run down the road for a second, so she left me fully in charge of making the sides. I was like “Ummm…I can make the macaroni…and green beans…but I’ve never done mashed potatoes.” She said, in all Cynthia Kay glory, “Aleta, just read the back of the box.” So, I did.
Now, for those of you that have never made boxed mashed potatoes, please understand something: they grow almost instantaneously. I was ill-prepared for this. I had chosen a pot really too small to handle mashed potatoes, and I near about had them billowing out of the pot when CK arrived back home.
Aside from the pot snafu, they turned out great. And I must say, even though they weren’t homemade, old-fashioned mashed potatoes…I was a little proud of myself for making them.
*Deep Breath*
Okay. Here goes. I, Aleta Kaylee, am not a cook. I’m not. I am a baker. I am not a cook. See, in baking, it’s precise. Precision, I can handle. I can follow a recipe down to the T. Following closely to a tried and true recipe, I can do. But cooking…well, cooking is a whole different ball game.
Cooking is not about precision. Cooking, you can add a little of this, a dash of that, sprinkle in some spices….and bing, bang, boom…Dinner is ready. I’m not one of those “little of this, a dash of that” type girls…I need it to be in black and white. I need it to be exact. I need specific amounts. Like “a teaspoon of this, a tablespoon of that.” Admittedly, I have no “chill” and hate guestimation.
And I mean, how does one just automatically have a built-in knowledge of spices?? I do not understand! I wasn’t born with that knowledge. Maybe it is my lack of practice in the kitchen? Maybe it’s my impatience with trial and error? When I make something…I want to know that the end result will be edible. Otherwise, it is a waste of my time.
I have ultimately concluded that there are bakers in this world; those that crave specific instructions. And then there are cooks; those that can happily fly by the seat of their pants. There is only a small percentage of people that are truly good at both.
Now that was a very long prelude into this…but I have got to share with y’all a proud moment that I experienced over the weekend.
On Sunday evening, I cooked mashed potatoes for the very first time. Now, before you go getting excited. They were boxed mashed potatoes. I know! OH THE HORROR!!!
It’s almost laughable now, I had mom pick up chicken from Hitchcocks, and I told her I would help cook the sides. The menu included: Macaroni and Cheese (of the Kraft variety), mashed potatoes, and green beans. Well, mom had to run down the road for a second, so she left me fully in charge of making the sides. I was like “Ummm…I can make the macaroni…and green beans…but I’ve never done mashed potatoes.” She said, in all Cynthia Kay glory, “Aleta, just read the back of the box.” So, I did.
Now, for those of you that have never made boxed mashed potatoes, please understand something: they grow almost instantaneously. I was ill-prepared for this. I had chosen a pot really too small to handle mashed potatoes, and I near about had them billowing out of the pot when CK arrived back home.
Aside from the pot snafu, they turned out great. And I must say, even though they weren’t homemade, old-fashioned mashed potatoes…I was a little proud of myself for making them.
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