I like to cook
I know people who think Eve served the biblical apple merely because she was pinched for time and didn’t have to cook it.
I like to cook. “Where did you learned to cook”? people ask, like there’s a cavern hidden deep under the city where we meet; a secret benevolent cabal of chefs, practicing the ancient rites of both spice mingling and time juggling. “In the kitchen,” I always reply. They eye me with suspicion and disbelief.
I like to cook. Cooking lets me unleash my creative energies. To me, recipes are just vague guidelines. I enjoy using institution to know whether I should add more garam masala, zest another lemon, grind an extra nutmeg or two. I enjoy it even more when I’m right.
Hey I like to cook. The inside is something too. Clearly some engineers spent a lot of time slaving over a hot drawing board. Because they’ve come up with things like seats as comfortable as any this seat as comfortable as any this seat has ever sat in. Something about “his points” being raised for the optimum driving position.
Eve the globe box, the oven of cars that turns chocolate to syrup, is different. It has its own air conditioning vent, so when the a/c is on, it’s cool in there.
Well, dinnertime’s coming, and I’m out of saffron. Usually I’d just try to make do, but now I feel like a quick zig to the store. You should see me behind the wheel now.
Woman, can cook.
