Introduction: More than you care about why I decided to write this blog, still, the Internet is free and you can always just scroll to the end. Or go watch Walking Dead (icky but encouraging munching sounds so good background effects for a food blog)
I was in college. My friend, Roma, was broke and it was the birthday of her boyfriend-who-shall-remain-nameless. She thought she oughta get him a cake. This was around 1977, so a cake probably would've cost, what, $3. Still, she was broke. It might as well have been $300. Lest she turn to drug dealing or prostitution to fund the perpetuation of this already evil relationship, I said, hey, why don't you make him a cake? She turned and stared at me dully, as if I'd suggested she graph fractals or try speaking in tongues.
I can't cook, she said.
I pulled out a cookbook -- likely The Settlement Cookbook, that German-, Scot- and Jewish- inspired saddle horse that was my go-to favorite back in the day -- and found some basic recipe, probably sufficient to feed a village of pioneers or a Gold Rush-era mining camp. I rattled off the ingredients. We had everything she needed in the house kitchen the rest of us had stocked with bare essentials of college nutrition: Little Kings, Johnny Walker Red, Kools, oh yeah, flour, sugar, eggs, baking soda.
Still, she was clueless. I proceeded to read the directions, without embellishment. My narrative went something like this: Put stuff in a bowl and stir it with a spoon. Pour it in a pan and stick it in the oven. The instructions were likely interspersed with a break or two to partake of illicit substances that, during that period, seemed to take the edge off the challenge of new experiences but occasionally prompted one to embark on noble pursuits such as trying to melt butter by putting a whole stick into freshly popped popcorn and stirring. Note: It doesn't melt.
The cake may have turned out a little lopsided. We may have eaten some or all of it before presenting it to Evil Man. But it made me realize that for some people — unfortunate souls without the benefit of a kindhearted mother creature for whom cooking and baking exceeded most earthly pleasures and whose idea of a perfect day was to share said cooking and baking adventures with her sons and daughter — the kitchen can seem a torture chamber and cooking the realm of mad genius scientists, endowed with special hidden knowledge passed down through a secret genetic code.
Maybe they're right. But so what, you have to eat anyway. Even if it's not perfect, all traces will be gone after dinner -- either eaten or in the trash with the takeout box of the food you ordered to replace it. No sweat!
And so, many, many years, even decades, later — when nobody uses a cookbook and there is a youtube instructional video for everything from how to wipe your nose to how to wipe your friend's nose — I offer you my humble tips on how to make basic foodstuffs in the kitchen using basic foodstuffs and your head. And what I'm willing to share from my head. Mostly, that is encouragement.
You can do it! You've got this! Just remember: Failure is an option. If you mess it up, do it again, just ... different. Better. Because there is always a Plan B and it rarely involves actually starvation.
I always planned to call this effort "The How to Cook Without a Cookbook Cookbook." But even I have evolved. So has my style of cooking. I now call it "The Hit or Miss Cookbook."
In other words, gather your implements of meal construction (or destruction), give it a go and see if it's a hit or a miss! If it's a hit, attempt to replicate your efforts. If it's a miss, try it again, just ... better.
