I nuke.
I don’t cook. I nuke. Somehow I never got into the dicing, chopping, washing, cleaning, steaming, frying, boiling, and sautéing thing. My din-dins comes out of a box, all frozen and ready for the microwave. My personal food critic, my stomach, has no problem with that. I don’t even have a bottle of “Extra Virgin Olive Oil”. To some, this is food heresy, and I’m a food heathen. My brother is into cooking. He makes everything from scratch. He’s my kid brother, and I know he fell on his head when he was a tot, so that probably accounts for it. My idea of scratch is opening the frozen food door at the market. So, I nuke.
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That’s a good way to get dead. You might wanna keep an eye on your white cell count before you end up in the hospital. Anemia isn’t funny. It happened to my Father when my mother could no longer remember how to cook. The Doc told me frozen food dinners and such “meals” are the cause of many deaths for those who can’t or won’t cook real food.