I have a whole new respect for cooks and fast food workers.
This past weekend I had not one but two BBQs and decided to make cheesy arepas, which are basically cornmeal stuffed with cheese then fried. I think technically they’re not supposed to be fried, but I don’t have an arepa maker or grill, so mine were extra decadent and artery-clogging. I thought if I put some happy Salsa music on and went about it in a calm, mindful, non-frantic way, it would be enjoyable: Just me creating something tasty with my own two hands. But it wasn’t enjoyable. It never is.
My plan was to make 12-15 for each BBQ, but I didn’t measure, decided I might as well use the entire bag of cornmeal and ended up making about 75, which equals about three hours in a very hot, greasy, unpleasant kitchen followed by several hours of being in a very bad mood. I take no joy in cooking. I’ve tried it a few times now and I don’t see the appeal. You have to buy all these ingredients, hope your food turns out OK and then clean up and wash a bunch of pots, pans and utensils. Where’s the fun in that???
I think I’ll just stick to sandwiches, Brussels sprouts and fried eggs for dinner. And next time I have a BBQ I’ll just walk over to Giant. Now that I’m almost 30 I think the time has come to fully commit myself to a life of moderation and careful planning.