Chef Boyyouscaredme

I’ve recently begun attending Physio Therapy. While she’s digging into me until I feel the “good” kind of hurt, stabbing me with needles and forcing me to exercise, we indulge in insightful conversations.

She believes Comedy Clubs are an underrated evening out and I could not agree more. Some of the most beloved comedic actors/actresses began as stand up comedians such as: Tim Allen, Billy Crystal, Ellen Degeneres, Kevin Hart, and Bill Cosby (‘beloved’ may be a stretch for old Bill). Yet, I rarely hear of anyone attending a comedy night.

We questioned what it would be like to date a comedian. Would you constantly be busting a gut? Would he be capable of being serious in a pivotal moment? Would he be able to live in the moment or continually searching for new material? – I should ask my old boyfriends what it was like dating me.

The comedians that I admire draw his/her comedy from every day occurrences: a stop at Starbucks, political controversy, driving in rush hour or cooking…

In Ding Dong the Shirt is Dead, I had difficultly dressing myself. On Monday, I had difficulty disguising my mediocre cooking skills. 

I had a new resident express his love for cooking. He stated that he had a spinach soup recipe that was to die for.  This gave me the idea to have a cooking program with him as the instructor – forgetting that I would be the student… I remove the battery from my smoke alarm while I cook; the residents had no idea what they were in for. 

Monday afternoon arrived and I was ready to be master chef (Gordon Ramsay was unable to attend, thank God). We had the ingredients, the resident’s very own kitchen gadgets – ones that I had never seen before and my willingness to embarrass myself. 

We began by cutting the onions, garlic and celery. I’m sure he was judging my slow chopping skills and uneven slices, but to my relief we used one of his gadgets to finely chop the vegetables in the end.  

We moved over to the stove and once I figured out how to turn the burner on (by asking the cook to do it for me), we added oil, the vegetables, broth and cream into a large soup pot.

Then came the spinach. We placed so many bags of spinach in that pot, Popeye would have smelled it a mile away. I thought to myself, how in the heck is someone going to enjoy this soup mounting with spinach. But who would have thunk, he had a gadget to finely break the spinach as well. 

We had a great system going. We would let it boil on the stove for a bit, I would remove the pot and place it at arms reach for the resident, he would stir and analyze the process of the soup.  

For the final step, the resident asked me to plug in one of his gadgets. As soon as he pressed “on’, I had the vision of spinach sticking to every corner of the kitchen, so I flinched, springing backwards, bumping into the cook. 

Everyone began to giggle as the cook stroked my shoulder, reassuring me that it would not escape the pot. 

The resident looked up at me and assumed, “you must not cook often.” 

Bon appetit!

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