Anymore. I used to really enjoy it. I found the process of making a meal very relaxing. Dicing onions took on a particularly meditative quality.
Then I had three children, my husband became an evil public employee hell bent on bankrupting the state while simultaneously always (it seems) at work, and meal planning became even more odious.
How many original ideas can you come up with for main dish and side dishes in a two week period? How many times can I get away with making hamburgers on the grill before my family revolts? 6? 12? Why do all those recipes have so many ingredients?
I’m now remembering why I stopped cooking, lunch became perpetual pepperoni pizza from Aldi, and I bought flour tortillas in large quantities from the grocery store. Tell me again why a cheese quesadilla with a green salad for dinner every night is unhealthy?
Doing all of this just after finding out the 1994 Buick with north of 150k miles needs $550 of work just so that we can get it to keep running (hopefully) until this time next year? Probably not such a good idea. Still, I sit down at the computer and my mind goes blank. Everything inside of me revolts at the idea. Meal planning and grocery list creating….NOT what I want to be doing.
Yup, I hate cooking. I’m going to go do yoga instead. The children can feed themselves, right?