Some people simply cannot cook, and I am one of those people. Lord knows that over the years I have tried. I had always figured that any fool can follow a recipe. Hell, that’s just like following assembly instructions and putting together a bicycle, but over time I learned that that wasn’t really the case.

Recipes had ‘keywords’ that were pertinent to the outcome. Sauté. Sift. Fold. Blanch. Words that held no meaning for me in that context. And even if I did manage to follow a recipe, when it got down to the actual cooking with heat part, I royally fucked it up. I burned shit. Even worse, I’d burn things on the outside and they would be raw on the inside. I couldn’t even grill a steak. It didn’t help that I only wanted to cook masterpieces. I never tried meatloaf or pot roast. Every time I tried to cook it was always some extremely complicated thing with reduction sauces and very expensive ingredients which I summarily ruined. I wanted to cook a spectacular meal or nothing at all. In the end, of course, it was nothing.

Well, this weekend I decided to try cooking something for my wife since she would be gone most of the day. I’ve gained some confidence lately by watching The Food Network. They’ve got a couple of broads with perky tits on there sometimes that cook things and explain what’s going on, what to look out for and what not. One of them does Italian, I think. So I’ve seen these shows a few times and I decide that I can cook something.

The other day I remembered my wife saying that she liked empanadas, so when I knew shed be gone for a day I scoured the ‘net for a recipe. If you don’t know what they are, they’re Argentinean meat pies. Like a fucked up Hot-Pocket. That meant I would have to make dough in addition to actually cooking something.

From the outset I was in trouble. I had to do too many things at the same time. I had a potato boiling in one pot and eggs in another, and neither was going well. I peeled a potato and boiled it in water…what could go wrong? The fucking thing was disintegrating. I kept checking it and the water was getting cloudy and the potato was shrinking and it looked like a fucking shrunken head. Meanwhile, I had no idea how long it took to make a hard boiled egg. I knew that a three minute egg was soft boiled, so I did it for six minutes. Then I took the potato and the egg and put them in the fridge.

Next I made the dough. Basically flour and a stick of butter. Some milk. It was easier than I thought but it made a huge mess. I put that shit in the fridge and started “finely chopping” a red pepper and an onion. That took about an hour. Someone needs to “define” finely chopped. But it wasn’t over.

I had to sauté the onions and peppers, but I had the common sense to use low heat. Meanwhile I was washing pots and pans and the whole thing was starting to suck. I peeled the eggs to find that they weren’t really hard boiled. The yolks were kind of solid, but not really. I had to “finely chop” some green olives, but first I had to de-pimento-ize them. The only easy thing was the meat. I browned the meat with no problem.

Finally I mixed all the shit together in a giant bowl and put it in the fridge. I had no idea how I was going to roll out the dough and put all this shit together.

When the old lady came home she was surprised to find that I had been cooking. I told her the story to that point and we discussed ordering a pizza because in that past when I cooked, that was always what we ended up doing, but we decided to wait and see.

I started rolling out the dough only to find that it sticks to everything. I had to cut 7” diameter circles so I used a pot like a cookie cutter. The dough was a real pain in the ass and it only yielded half the shells it was supposed to so I was fucked. But I filled the shells I had and folded them over sealed them with a fork and shoved them all into the oven and made my glaze.

Cut to the chase:

The came out looking like perfect empanadas. They smelled like perfect empanadas. Unfortunately, I had used no salt at all during the cooking process. They had no taste. My wife declared that if you salted them they were great. I tried it, and you could almost tell what they were supposed to taste like, but we ended up getting the pizza.

In the long run I think it was a great success. My dough was perfect, I did all the hard stuff right, they looked perfect…I just fucked up a major detail. And with all the shit that could have gone wrong with the dough and what not, I think I did fine.

Next week, Beef Bourguignon.