Seriously, I can't cook. I love to cook, but it never turns out well: I don't read the directions and stuffing ends up like soup and rice ends up burnt. I'm starting to wonder if the recipes I'm making are what's bad.
See, most things that I cook are vegetarian or vegan, which admittedly doesn't always equal tummy-patting yummy-yummy. Last night I made this sweet potato and barley risotto which was okay when it was hot, but as soon as it started to cool, it tasted gross. The barley dried out and I couldn't choke the second half down. (Meanwhile, Mike is happily chowing away on beer beef stew I made him.)
The same thing happened with this chickpea casserole I made -- delicious at first, but I couldn't finish it. That seems to be the way with healthy food: I can eat half a banana, but the second half makes me want to vomit.
The vegan cookies are sugary enough, but somehow taste off; the whole-wheat baked ziti with fake-meat crumbles in it tastes too wholesome, too filling, too many hyphens.
Last night, after I choked down the sweet potato risotto and packed the leftovers up in the fridge, I ended up staring into the cabinet at Jon and Trish's boxes of Mac N Cheese: sweet hollow carbs with bad-for-you powdered cheese. I ended up eating the last of the tootsie rolls to console myself.
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