I don't mean that coolass guitar rip you've memorized; kitchen duty.
As a kid I could do whatever I wanted provided the kitchen was in the same shape when I left as when I got there. When my son was three or four, we would pull out the bottom three drawers of the five below the counter so he could use it like steps to stand at the counter and butcher a carrot or two. Grandma saw tha once and did an about face, she knows how sharp my Sabatier paring knife is. I wanted him to learn the joy of creating something, working with others and that there are no "boy jobs" and "girl jobs".
Ian's fiance's Dad knows that beer is in the big white box in that room, but other than that has no idea what happens in a kitchen. The meals are always meat - potato- veggie; meat very well done, veggies soggy. I see Kim's challenge.
Kim called Ian and said let me know when you leave work, I'm making dinner.
He has one of those 12" ceramic thingies with a heating element to BarB-Que indoors.
He got home and the apartment was full of smoke, the smoke detectors were off the ceiling, the poor chicken was black on one side, raw on the other and in the sink.
She's pissed, want to return the stupid thing, it's broke!
So.
Do you cook?
Why?
Why not?
Dan
