Just another day at the office
I guess that settled that argument... or not! Ha ha. [matric = South African High School Diploma]Guy 1: Hey, have you heard that we now only have eight planets in our solar system. Guy 2: Yeah, that is because The International Astronomical Union (IAU) has recently revised the definition of what constitutes a ‘true’ planet. So although Pluto still technically remains in the planet category, it is now called a dwarf planet. Guy 1: I wonder if we are expected to know the names of the new dwarf planets? Guy 2: Why do you ask? Are you planning on going back to school and rewriting your *matric exam?
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Boredom is an ugly thing. Couple it with opportunity and you could have what is potentially an explosive (or unsettling) situation.
About half an hour ago I received an sms on my cellphone. (I assume it was from a girl) It was clearly sent to my phone by mistake, because I did not recognise the number it was sent from.
Naturally, and true to my nature, I replied.
My mother called this early morning to ask if I could ask my mate Paul, who’s an auto-mechanic, to have a look at her misfiring car.
“I am sure it is probably a minor fault. Why don’t you ask Dad to have a look at it for you?”
She said, “Son, I would rather not involve your father in this. I want the car fixed, not destroyed. Your father will never admit it, but he knows diddly-squat about cars. I’ll be lucky if the car can still start after he’s looked at it, and then it will cost and arm and a leg to repair”
She has a point. WISE WOMAN! (I wonder if her high-speed highway antics have anything to do with the car misfiring.)
My parents’ garage is littered with appliances and repair projects that my father initiated and never completed. Come to think of it, so is mine… but we aren’t talking about me now… he he. I think I may have inherited a few traits from him.
And we aren’t the only ones. The average guy will not admit defeat even when the odds are stacked against him. This becomes more so when he feels that his manhood/manliness is at stake. It is difficult to knowingly admit defeat or an inability to do something to a woman or to your mates.
The mechanism that kicks in is the same one that prevents us from asking for directions, admitting to doubtful financial aptitude, or that our technical and mechanical abilities borders on zero. Couple to that an uncontrollable urge to take things apart, or put them together, and a perception that we know it all.
Many generations of genetic transmutation have equipped males with a sophisticated array of defense mechanisms, all which have been designed to make us overcome the unachievable. A cruel twist of fate, but then Mother Nature is a woman, isn’t she?
There exists a rift between what we think we know and the logical brain, and the ego is the guardian of the bridge traversing the rift. The rift may only be a few nanometers wide, but it may as well be the Grand Canyon. And if anything is able to make it pass the guardian and over the gap, it is filed away in subliminal memory crypt where it eventually dissolves and becomes part of a soup of non-essential information. It is the same place where anniversaries, birthdays, and dinner reservations with the in-laws are stored.
A woman should never ask a guy if he knows what he is doing. How dare you, woman… of course he does! And if on the odd occasion it transpires that he really does not have a clue, a guy will hide his ineptitude behind a pile of techno mumbo-jumbo such as, “the googly that drives the ignition coil is not aligned with the thingamabob or make some stupid joke. Make no mistake... we are also the proud owner of the bullshit gene! Mother nature taketh, and she also giveth.
The only time a man will instinctively throw in the towel is when it comes to life’s softer issues, such as relationship advice and talking about feelings. In these cases all you will get is a curt and decisive, “I don’t know” or “can’t you see I’m busy”. And when approached on these things by your own children, the answer almost always is… “Go and ask your mother”
I guess I owe a follow-up post after announcing that [S] and I will be attending cooking classes from Saturday onwards. It is not quite how I envisioned spending my precious leisure time on a Saturday, but I guess there is a first for everything.
First things first… The Amabokoboko (the South African rugby team) lost (20-18) the all–important tri-nations game against the Aussies in Sydney. It was a major disappointment… politely put. Not even the alcohol and the cold weather could numb the gut-wrenching pain! Not that I expected us to win an away game, but then, one can always hope and pray for the impossible.
I was however quite surprised at how well we played and I will be bold enough to say that we SHOULD HAVE won that game. Yeah, you bloody heard me! The scoreboard may tell a different story, but on the day, South Africa was the better side and the Aussies... well, they were just plain lucky. There, I said it… chapter closed.
Ok… let’s get back to Cooking for Fools 101. Saturday’s lesson was an introduction about how the course will be run, the various cooking utensils one would find in the kitchen and how to use them. Apart from blatantly obvious such as, a knife is used for cutting, it really helps to use the right tool for the right job, if you know what I mean. I also realized that most utensils used in the kitchen are really really SHARP, and that I could do serious damage to my body parts or even lose a few… yikes!! Let’s just say the phrase, “put your cock on the block” has new meaning to me.
We also learnt about the different cuts of meat (who knew!), different vegetables and their uses (who knew an onion could be so versatile?) and the nuances and flavors various spices add to dishes. (I’ve got my eye on you coriander… you sexy thing, you!)
Two people share a prep and cook area and there are 24 people to the class, mostly trendy singles and young (newlywed) couples. No surprises here. We eat what we cook, share a glass of wine, have a few laughs and take home whatever is left over. Aprons, recipes and ingredients are provided by the establishment, which seems reasonable, given the amount of dosh we fork out.
At the start of the first class we were each given the opportunity to introduce ourselves with a short bit about what we hope to achieve and why we are doing the classes. It was pretty lame really, as most, if not all of us are there because we are complete and utter doofusses in the kitchen. What do they expect us to say other than the bog-standard “improve my cooking kills”, “learn something new” and “I can’t frikkin cook”?
When my turn came around, I was all set to go with the “I-am-a-disaster-in-the-kitchen” scenario, when the comments made by my dear friends’ (Jarvenpa, IITQ and Blackcrag) came to mind. (Thanks guys! Or perhaps I was still drunk from the alcohol I consumed during the game… who knows?)
“The truth is”, I said, “I am really just here for the sex. I’ve been told that women find a man who can cook irresistible and I am hoping to impress the opposite sex and get laid more often… many times over. It is not that I am not getting any, I just want to up my quota” (I warned you before… I have no shame!)
The room went silent. [S] gasped audibly and then kicked me on the shin. She’s been with me long enough to know that I was taking the piss out of everyone in the room.
The singles at the back and on the left of us giggled and then started laughing. They may loathe to admit it, but they are all here for the same reason…. to get their freak on. There’s no fooling me, mister… I know you!
The chef, God bless his chubby chocolate filled heart, caught on to my sense of humour. He promised that I would definitely be a hit with the ladies…. that is, if my girlfriend would allow it.
Yep, cooking classes beat internet dating… anytime.
FACT: I cannot cook a decent meal if my life depended on it, and I have the scars to prove it. No, really. I mean it. No jokes here.
When [S] suggested that we sign up for cooking classes, I thought at first that I may have heard her incorrectly.
My response was, “What ever for? I do not belong in a kitchen. Right now I have all the cooking skills I need or should be allowed to have; I can operate a can opener, boil water, scramble eggs and BBQ meat on a Saturday afternoon. For the rest there is Woolies and take out”
Not so, I am told. Cooking classes for culinary enthusiasts is the new “in” thing and everyone, it seems, wants to learn to cook up a storm. (They do?) It is kinda like going the gym (oh yeah?). It is the new social trend and more and more people are doing it. It’s all about socializing and feeling good about yourself as you master new skills.
Blah, blah, blah… she sounds like an ad in a glossy magazine. Electric shock therapy and a prescription for Lithium seems more preferable.
Right from the start there was a flaw in her argument. I am NOT a culinary enthusiast. I prefer to have my food prepared for me by someone else. I am perfectly happy with eating and tasting as long as I do not have to slave away in a kitchen for hours on end. Where is the fun in eating food you prepared yourself?
She also said something about there being something sexy about a man who can cook. Awesome. I guess I must be running low on sex appeal then. Damn.
Now I come from a long line of culinary idiots. None of the men in my family can cook a proper meal and we are thoroughly content to be kitchen dweebs. The one thing we are good at is providing moral support and conversation to whomever does the cooking. If a “cooking-companion” is what you are looking for, then I’m your guy. I’ll even wash and clean the veggies when I am asked to.
When I want to see a guy in the kitchen, I tune into the food channel and watch Jamie Oliver, Bill Granger and other celebrity chefs as they go about their business.
What did me in was the look of utter disappointment on her face as I realized how much it would mean to her that we do this together. This was important stuff and not to be taken lightly! I could think of numerous other fun things to do if spending time together was an issue, yet how could I expect her to do what I want and not be willing to do the same for her?
Hence, I gave in and let her have her way. I have learned that time, attention and compromise are key ingredients in a relationship and that it is critical to delight the opponent with the edge, i.e. the one who can and will withhold sex. He he. That said, it is not the kind of ploy I think she would utilize. She is not that shallow and manipulative. It does however make for good common sense to ensure it never happens.
So… starting this Saturday, and for the next six weeks thereafter, the Chitty will re-kindle his pioneering spirit, don an apron and release the inner outlaw as he boldly goes where few men of his generation has gone before… set foot in the kitchen with the sole purpose of preparing something that is both tasty and edible.
Watch me as I learn to chop, de-bone, puree, julienne, sauté, roast, bake and flambé my way into the new century.
I hope they have insurance!
