i am a shitty cook. i will readily admit this. i feel truly guilty cooking anything for me and Biff, because i am always scared i will poison him.
the first time i can actually remember cooking was when i was a small child, and I wanted to make pasta like my mom. Breaking up pieces of spaghetti, I placed them in hot water inside a plastic tub, and then placed the plastic tub outside in the summer sun. After a whole day of soaking in the sun, the spaghetti bits were mushy and looked cooked. I put them on a small dish, covered them with ketchup, and presented them to my mom as a special treat. She wasn't amused, and made me eat it as a sort of punishment for wasting food. It was unspeakably nasty--gooshy, and the noodles were slimy outside and crunchy inside.
i was never trusted to cook anything at all. not even tuna salad. the only thing i was allowed to prepare were cherry pies, and that's because i bake a pretty damn good pie. but still, the irony of allowing my grungy stoner younger sister the privilege of preparing anything she damn well pleased (strawberry sorbet, beef tenderloin, her legendary mashed potatoes for which she was a glutton for praise, whatever) was annoying.
the only thing my older sister cooked was chicken cordon-bleu, which was absolutely delicious--an explode-with-flavor-in-your-mouth proteinfat bomb that overwhelmed you with the flavors of parmesan, chicken, and prosciutto bathed in delicious butter sauce. but the trade-off of having to deal with her psychotic nerviness afterwards. she locked me out of the house last june, I believe, after making chicken cordon bleu.
Biff is a better cook than i am. he can work wonders with ramen noodles and eggs. I mean, this is ramen noodles we're talking about! they taste like some kind of exotic asian noodle dish when he prepares them. He makes fantastic stir-fries, sandwiches, and he is a truly prodigious drink mixer. Except for that time when he tried mixing Rose's Lime Juice and Vodka without any Mountain Dew for sweetness or dilution(*it tasted like how I imagine Chernobyl fallout would taste), his drinks are hits.
I have learned how to make french fries, pasta, and even pizza. But somehow i have this nagging feeling that the unpleasant feelings in my/Biff's stomachs yesterday were from my chicken stir-fry...