About TGWCC

100 recipes in 100 days.

I can’t cook. I’m not being self-depricating. There are some things that I can do quite well. I can pull off LL Bean boots. I can clean my glasses with gin. I can dance. I can fit my fist inside my mouth. I can fight colds before they ever come. But I can’t cook. And that’s a fact.

Once I tried to make a pancake and when I tried to flip it over I realized it was still liquid so it became a blob and then I threw it away and ate cereal.

Once I made a pasta sauce for a “ratatouille” that tasted like tomato sauce straight from a can because it was mostly just tomato sauce straight from a can.

Once I served asparagus without cutting off the ends and my friend was like: you have to cut off the ends. And I was like: I know, I must have forgotten. But I didn’t forget because you can’t forget something you don’t know. And I would have eaten the ends if I hadn’t been told not to.

Never have I cooked raw meat on my own.

Never have I made something from scratch.

Never have I been confident in the kitchen.

So this is a ploy to force so kitchen confidence. Some kitchidence, if you will. I was motivated after visiting some friends, a daughter mother duo who can cook like that’s all they’ve done since they were born. I visited them in California. They fed me for a week, and they fed me well. While I was there, I literally and metaphorically woke up and smelled the bacon. So when I headed home to the landlocked city where I am known at a bistro in an indoor mall by name and order (kids grilled cheese, herb fries, purple stuff on the side), I felt it was time for a change.

So I am challenging myself to 100 recipes in 100 days. My rules are as followed:

I must finish 100 recipes in 100 days.

I can cook more than one of these recipes in a day.

I will post every time I cook something.

There are no limits to what recipes I can cook.

I must cook enough to bring leftovers the next day.

There must be at least one vegetable involved every time I cook.

At least once a week, I will have a guest chef come and teach me how to cook something they are legendary for.

So hopefully, by the end of the summer, I will the bistro people will have forgotten my name and order. And I’ll walk back in and they’ll say: you look familiar. And then the theme song of cheers will start playing. From my iPhone. In my pocket. And then they’ll be like: what is that? And I’ll be like: What about our memories? And then they’ll ask me what I want to eat. And I’ll say kids grilled cheese, herb fries, purple stuff on the side.

My cooking starts tonight.

Also, I can’t really dance. That part was a lie.