Cooking with Crazy

If I had my own television cooking show it would be called "The Anxious Chef" or "The Nervous Gourmet" or maybe the "Paranoid Pyscho Cook" -- something to convey the terror with which I approach my cooking. I never learned how to cook properly growing up, and I feel a bit crippled over the lack. There's no signature dish anyone would associate with me, no "Mara's Chocolate Pecan Pie," "Erin's Potato Chips," "Ressa's Pepperoni Salad," or "KC's Stir Fry Sauce."

So I eat out a lot. I live in Chicago -- I'm surrounded by delicious food. But at a certain point, eating out becomes a bit of a surrender, doesn't it? An admission of one's own incompetence. It's humiliating.

This morning, I decided to cook breakfast. "Egg in a basket" sounds delicious, right? Any idiot can handle what is really just toast and fried eggs, right? So I gave it a whirl.


It looks kind of tasty, doesn't it? Unfortunately, that didn't last since I flipped them over to finish them -- how else to cook the whites hanging around on the top or the bread, all uncooked and waiting to poison me? And then of course there was no yolk left to dip the bread in as I'd imagined. And it just tasted kind of yucky. I did eat the bread holes and nibbled off the edges, and that was all yummy. I think though, that maybe I just don't like fried eggs. I can hardly believe it, they look so dadgum delicious, but I never seem to encounter one that tastes the way I think it should.

Eggs in a Basket Final Grade: D.