sigh
I’m kind of on a downward spiral today. A thin skinned, hypersensitive spiral and I may have hit rock bottom. I don’t care anymore. I just don’t care. I am going to live my life, happy, healthy and warm and fuck all y’all to Morocco and back.
Why?
I’ve just been handed my ass on a plate because sometimes…I bake with margarine.
Yeah. Come on. Bring it on foodies. Tell me how margarine is a tool of satan. But before you begin, allow me an opening statement.
Fuck you and your god damn food snobbery. Take your Sundried tomatoes and shove 'em up your urethra. I honestly, HONESTLY do not brag or toot my horn about much but I assure you of this: I am a kick ASS cook. People have asked if I would submit some of my recipes to fucking RESTAURANTS. I host Thanksgivings where I make all of the standards from scratch. I bake home made bread and pie crust that would make you slap your fucking grandma it’s so good and flaky. Sometimes I like to really work hard to create a masterpiece.
But you know what I also like? Eating at Fridays. Yep, you heard me. And WENDYS. And I use Fat Free sour cream. And GENERIC brand peanut butter. And I drink Miller Lite. And sometimes, I actually make and consume the recipes on the backs of Campbell Soup Cans. And I buy Kraft Cheese from the GROCERY store, all wrapped up in plastic.
I DON’T FUCKING LIKE CAPERS. I don’t buy my ham from some wizard in the mountains who makes it from special golden pigs. I don’t have a “local butcher”. I don’t want to hear the specials. I DON’T want to eat something that looks like art on a plate. I don’t send away for spices from the Orient. I don’t use only the finest freshest ingredients.
And here’s the best part, I DON’T CRITICIZE OTHER PEOPLE for how they cook or what ingredients they use or where they bought them. Got me?
Sometimes I make recipes that have been handed down for three generations and they’re from a poor Polish grandma who only had six ingredients on hand. DON’T TELL ME HOW TO IMPROVE it with your motherfucking goat cheese and pinenuts. I am a comfort food cook. I receive such fucking joy from cooking it’s near to shocking. I could stay up all night cooking, but I don’t do it to compete with who can use the wackiest ingredients or the most ingredients or sweat their lives way to create a spicy octopus tapanade.
And sometimes, let’s all face it, recipes are meant to be easy. I don’t want to name names but jesus christ, deviled eggs are supposed to be a quick, easy delight, not a fifty step process with an encyclopedia of ingredients including the powdered horn of a narwahl.
And again, I don’t want to name names, but I had to laugh in my “Quick and Easy Party Foods” thread when people consistently missed the “Quick and Easy” part and began suggesting a sixty ingredient meal that you’d need a personal assistant to put together.
I love food. I really honestly do, and I admire everyone who also loves food. And I hail everyone who is a good cook, but jesus christ. Just because YOU know how to make everything in the world perfectly, doesn’t mean nobody else does.
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