I am not a chef.
I have never taken a cooking class.
I have no knife skills. In fact, the tiny scar on my left pointer finger will attest to this. An attempt at slicing bread left me with a centimeter-long cut that, when it wouldn't stop bleeding three-hours later, placed me, sheepishly, in the emergency room to receive two stitches and a shot of lidocaine. A real chef would never have bled so much, and likely would have crazy-glued the thing before going to the hospital.
In my favor, I like to eat.
I like to cook. And to put that in perspective, my biggest success is Magic Beans--black beans with a heavy dose vinegar and other flavorings. Magic Beans taste good, and I like to flatter myself that it was a triumph of an inspired palate that I knew how to achieve magic status in one fell swoop after eating beans and realizing I could make them better.
I experiment enough in the kitchen that we don't have a standard rotation. Though there are, of course, go-to dishes. Mine: pizza with home-made crust (that no matter what, I can't get quite right), gingery chicken stir fry, oven-roasted root vegetables, roast chicken with herb butter, and a variety of standardish pasta dishes from red sauce with veggies or meats to baked sausage-rigatoni casserole.
In a nutshell, I am a very average home cook with an above-average interest. Do not expect greatness from me, but maybe, I hope, a bit of gumption.
