I come from a long line of women who don’t like to cook, and, as a result, try not to. I just realized this and now feel totally justified with my sloth in the kitchen.
Neither of my grandmothers enjoyed cooking. When my dad’s sister was in elementary school, she drew a picture of a pie, complete with black crust. She thought that was how all pies looked. My mom’s mom is a mother of 6, so she had to have something on the table each night. It’s no surprise she went for convenience, as I am sure she was totally exhausted by dinner time each day. It wasn’t until my mom married my dad that she learned spaghetti didn’t always come from a can. He had to teach her how to boil the noodles and brown the hamburger meat. She hadn’t ever seen a raw vegetable either, having only eaten the canned variety.
My mom was slightly better in the kitchen than her predecessors. Growing up, she cooked us meals at least 3 times/week. She never came to a point of enjoying cooking, but she did it, and my parents’ budget thanked them. Today she still doesn’t cook super often, but raw fruits and vegetables abound in her house.
So you see, my distaste of cooking comes completely naturally. Unfortunately for him, Elian’s mom is a master chef who, get this, cooks for fun. Sorry, Honey.