Monday, September 27, 2010

Cooking With the Animals

Cooking is a release. Some run. Some break things. I cook. I feel free to create and destroy at will. To invent, re-invent, un-invent, replicate, duplicate, or simply recreate. I am at home in my kitchen. I have had the fortune of acquiring a second home. I am taking SFL 110 (Food Preparation) as part of my sprint to graduation. There is a three hour lab associated with this class where my friend and I share Kitchen #6 as we work our culinary magic. Recently, there has been an intruder in our home.

There are 3 people assigned to Kitchen 6: Caitlin, myself, and the Sloth. The Sloth’s favorite pastimes include, but are not limited to: sitting in a chair in the middle of our kitchen, sharing our chocolate milk, eating our artistic masterpieces, and moving at the speed of an angry starfish. Today, I watched in awe as our dormant friend sat in a chair in front of the open oven with two hot pads in hand attempting to remove a casserole dish. His hands slowly neared each side of the hot dish, then, within inches of contact, they retreated to analyze the feeble attempt and approach from a different angle. I stared in disbelief as the steam pouring from my beautiful creation slowly disappeared. Five minutes. Ten minutes. Just as I was about to reach in with my bare hands to rescue my now frigid lunch, he made his final approach. His mitted hands cupped the dish inside the oven like the Asian lady at Wu’s Open Kitchen used to cup my face. An eternal grip accompanied by endless comments pertaining to my “cute, chubby” features. As my last tooth fell from my wrinkled face and I was nearing liver and renal failure, the Sloth began to move. He withdrew the food at such a glacial pace that I was certain I would never eat again. The sleeping giant placed a completely room temperature dish on a completely unnecessary cooling rack and began his journey to close the oven door.

The 5 hours that have passed since that class have felt as the blink of an eye in comparison to the twenty minutes spent watching a large snail undo what we had worked so hard to complete. There is a reason that animals do not cook there food. Were it not for the Sloth’s ability to purchase his meals, he would die of starvation before his attempt at cooking ever made it to his face. Were it not for 7 days of recuperation in between each cooking class, I would call the exterminator to remove the animal from my kitchen.


  1. I can attest to all of this. I still vote he has an "accident"...

  2. Think of it as an opportunity with nature- like a safari in the kitchen.

  3. Solution: cookies laced with cyanide.