Every now and then, I encounter the idea that “cooking” is a necessary skill. As in, “You are not really a grown up if you don’t know how to cook.” To which I can only say, No.

Now, let’s be clear. We are not talking about the process of taking a living animal, and, using a sharp knife and fire, turning it into something that is tolerably digestible. THAT, I can handle, and do so rather better than most. We are talking about something rather more subtle, a sort of performance art whereby various mostly edible things are converted, through the use of fire, spice, and various trickery, into something more edible. People who are good at this kind of thing are often snobbish about it, and are somewhat inclined to sneer at those of us who are not. I am inclined to sneer right back.

My rule is, if it takes longer to prepare and clean up after than it takes to eat, it isn’t worth it. And for me, when I am talking about my own labor, this is absolutely true. And I eat fast.

I will not deny that there are some things which I enjoy eating that do not fit inside these parameters. Sometimes people who are fond of me feed me these things out of affection, and I am grateful. Sometimes I pay a professional to prepare these things for me, and I certainly enjoy them. But the fact remains: If the only way I would ever have pizza or hamburgers or crab legs or grilled cheese sandwiches or fried chicken or omelettes again was if I prepared them myself, I would do without. I don’t enjoy ANY food enough to justify the effort. I just DON’T.

It has been pointed out, and is probably apparent from the list above, that I don’t really enjoy food all that much, and this is certainly true. But my unwillingness to acquire skill in a process I don’t enjoy, the end of which is something I don’t care about, is NOT a moral failing. And I deeply resent the implication that it is.

Uncle Hyena