COOKING LESSONS -PART #2- 英会話「あぜりあ」本八幡・西船橋・津田沼・佐倉
COOKING LESSONS PART # 2
Aloha and Greetings To All Of My Wonderful Readers Of My Blogs In Japan! Here is Part 2 of Blog #8 COOKING LESSONS for you! I am so excited about this special Blog. I just really hope that you are too. And I do want you to know that YES! All of my FUN (Story) BLOGS including this one, are TRUE. This Cooking Lessons Blog both parts, is part of the story of my life and REALLY DID HAPPEN. Nothing written in my blogs is false or made up. The only time I do that, write fiction, is when I am working on a novel. And so now my friends, now that you know this…..that all my Blog Stories are TRUE…..here we go! Enjoy the reading!
Ah Cooking! What an Innocent little thing I was at my mid-20’s and as I said in Part # 1 of this deliciously yummy Fun Blog, innocent in all the ways and styles of cooking because my late Mother would not let me anywhere near a stove. I do not think she trusted me—or was afraid I would burn myself or something. I am not sure why but she seemed to be very over protective of me. That must have been it. I myself, can not think of any other reason. She refused to teach me to cook, as I said, and she even made my after school snacks for me. Heaven please help me, if I went to reach for a glass (My late Mother was afraid perhaps that I might break something!) or made an attempt to use a knife of any kind (She was afraid I would cut myself probably). Most especially when it came to kitchen stuff My Mother would let me do nothing for myself.
So does that mean I was at a loss cooking-wise?
It seemed so. Especially when I first came to Hilo.
I had not met my second husband yet. My Italian “Chef”, at the time of this. —– my not knowing how to cook—–and I was staying at what you would call a Community House with both men and women staying there. And of course there were Rules you had to follow if you were staying at The House. And one of these Rules was that each week one person would cook an entire evening meal for the group living there. This is what the person in charge said and if we did not obey all of the House Rules, including the one dealing with the cooking, we could not stay there.
Well, now, as you, my dear Blog Readers can probably guess, one day, the man in charge came to me and said that it was now my turn to cook the evening meal for all the residents of the house. You should have seen the look that crossed my face when that man said this. I was absolutely horrified.
I told the man I could not do it and this man did not believe me.
We sat down together at the kitchen table,, with him believing that, of course I could do it. And I kept telling him that my making ANYTHING was impossible. Finally, I told the man The Big Truth. I can’t cook. I don’t know how. I had never learned how. I was never taught. I explained about my late Mother and how she was and how I was treated. But he still did not believe me.
Finally, he got up from the kitchen table and got a cookbook—asking me when he opened it—-if I could read. Knowing of course that he was really NOT trying to be insulting, I told him, yes, I can read—I just can’t cook. He asked me if I knew what the book was once he sat down next to me again. I said, yes, it’s a cookbook. Then he had me read a recipe. I did that perfectly of course. BUT—-the words and the numbers—(example) : 1/2 cup of this, 1/4 cup of that, a teaspoon of so and so, a tablespoon of such and such. Then the mixing or blending or whatever, to make whatever the thing was going to be—they meant nothing to me. They were just that. Words and Numbers. And that was all.
I can’t do it, I said.
And then I began to cry. I mean really, really, CRY, And my dear Readers, I will tell you something—-crying at the age of twenty-something in front of a person—-and a man at that—-that you barely know is NOT a pretty sight. Believe me.
This man looked at me, saw the overly enormous tears rolling down my face, my cheeks; his eyes widened and finally—-at last—-he believed me.
“You REALLY can’t cook. You REALLY don’t know how,” he said.
I swallowed hard as the tears continued their journey down my face, wetting my blouse.
“THAT’S what I have been trying to tell you,” I said.
YES! FINALLY! He understood! I couldn’t cook. I didn’t know how. You have heard the saying: Can’t even boil water? I wasn’t taught or perhaps shown is a much better word how to do that either.
ANYWAY: We worked something out. He told me that for the evening meal we would be making a salad with salad dressing, meatloaf, mashed potatoes, and green beans for the vegetable. And for dessert—ice cream.
Step by step, we went through everything and I made the meal under his watchful eye and with a little bit of help from him now and then. The salad was simple, as was the dressing. The green beans were the frozen kind, the meatloaf looked and surprisingly (at Supper) tasted wonderful. The potatoes were of the INSTANT variety. And the ice cream was very, very, good.
What was the outcome of all this, you ask?
Shortly after this horrifying ordeal, I moved out of the Community House. In the later part of the following year, I met my Italian “Chef”.
I have yet to make another meatloaf (maybe I should try again?) and to this day I only make REAL Mashed Potatoes—NOT INSTANT !!!—. You will NEVER find a box of Instant Mashed Potatoes in my apartment anywhere. I have recipes friends have given me. One taught me how to make Chili and Rice. I have learned to make Casseroles and other such things like Shrimp Rolls. As long as I have the recipe in front of me, now, I can do it.
Now if I could only learn how to make JELLO!
And oh yes—My Big Secret.
My Big Secret is that I actually tell people that I can not cook because if they find out that I really can, they will want every recipe I have probably and will want me to bring something to every Special Get-together or Holiday Gathering—and I have a reputation to maintain—-and still yet sometimes I will say I can cook—-but I can’t COOK. Which gives you ALL something to think about.
And like I said in my greeting to you: TRUE STORY.
「Azalea Language School」