Here's a riddle for you. What's worse than shopping on an empty stomach? Give up? Reading a cookbook on an empty stomach. I did that over the weekend because I wanted to eat something new. I was also inspired by my recent weight loss and return to the gym.
It wasn't long before I realized that I'd might as well go across the street and have pizza, because there wasn't a single thing in the book that I could prepare from start to finish, all of the recipes mocking me (you can't eat me, you can't eat me!). I've always been a horrible cook. You would think with two Greek parents that something would have carried over, but my entire menu reads like something out of a high school cafeteria: grilled cheese, eggs, egg salad, pasta, and, on a good day, potatoes. (and no, that's not a picture of my kitchen)
It's not that I'm lazy, I just lack the skill and patience necessary to make something with more than three ingredients (alright, so maybe I am a little lazy, then). Reading a cook book is the ultimate torture, because it reminds me that I can only prepare food in my mind. To pick up a knife and try chopping an onion is just sad to watch.
And in Manhattan, unless you have a private chef, most people really don't cook, bake or keep things like flour on hand. So, in reading the menus, I determined that I would have to buy every single ingredient needed. It would cost well over $100.00 (in Manhattan prices) to make Chicken ala King. I might as well head over to the Red Cat on 10th.
So, I did what came naturally. I slammed the book closed and ordered in.