I, cook

When I was at Central Market slinging pizzas, my supervisor was from New York. Not a pleasant dude. He spent most days threatening to quit, complaining about his co-workers, leaving work early and incompentently flirting with the female staff members.

But, he could make a damn good pizza. In a mix of Obi-Wan Kenobe and George Costanza, he imparted a certain amount of this wisdom to me.

A thought hit me when I was working in the kitchen. I saw people cutting stuff. Then they'd add spices, then they'd heat it. "Damn," the thought said, "This crap's easy."

So, I've gotten more and more into cooking as the months have gone by. Coffee cake. Beef stroganoff. More breads. I'm working my way up to a chicken fried steak.

It's good for stress. And, my wife, while being an excellent cook, doesn't like to touch meat so much. So it's not like I had a lot of options.

"Stop eating meat?"

Like I said, I didn't have a lot options.