Sssshhh! Don’t tell any of my mates in the Bear Stranglers Club, but I’ve cooked the last two Saturday dinners. Okay, so I know most blokes don’t know where the kitchen is, let alone spend time in it, but I thought I’d take a bash at it. Light a fire, throw rhinoceros rump on it for half an hour… how hard can it be?
Actually, harder than it looks. Now I know why all the cooks on TV are men. Because a man who has learnt to cook well is special, that’s why. Deserves to be on the telly. Rumour has it that my brother-in-law is a great cook. I won’t really believe it until I’ve sampled his food or seen him on SBS at 7pm on a Saturday night.
So how did my efforts go? The nachos last week were good, though I must admit that even a blind hippo without opposing thumbs could have cooked them. Lasagne this week… well, let’s just say that somewhere during transit through the Daniel Bowen Kitchen Machine, it morphed into a pasta bolognaise dish. Not a mistake, I must stress – just a strategic revision once it was calculated that dinner was going to be around midnight if it got much more complicated. Okay, okay, it’s true – I spent an hour (+ heating time) just preparing the meat sauce. Gimme a break, huh?