I can never hope to understand how some people can enjoy cooking. So much work and prep, and on my case, the results are moderately good at best.
In my family, there are degrees of talent in the kitchen. My oldest brother is a cook by profession; it goes without saying that he's got the talent amongst us kids. It's somewhat situationally ironic that he went into cooking, as he's prone to stress and cooking is a highly stressful job, but none the less, you give the man a good supply of food and cooking aids, he will put together a delicious multi-course meal. In recent years, his daughter has shown an interest in and knack for baking.
At the other end of the spectrum, there's my sister, whose cooking, um...deficiencies, are legendary. We used to joke that she could find a way to mess up boiling water, and if you know her, you've seen her not-infrequent references on facebook to burnt, bland, or boring food. We've all jokingly begged of her husband on facebook that he stop letting her in the kitchen for fear that she will burn the house down. Our mother has tried to help out with gifts of George Foreman grills and such to help manage cooking better, but my sister's misfortunes in the kitchen are what they are: a reality. In the last few years, her youngest son has had a mishap or two in the kitchen that might indicate he will follow in her footsteps.
Then somewhere in between, there's me. In my junior high, Home Economics was a requirement, and though it's evident I can't sew to save my life (besides repairing holes and replacing buttons...I'm hella good at that), I wasn't a miserable cook, and given the right recipe I'm capable, though uninspired. And that's what I did tonight. While Etienne worked hard on a macaroni and cheese recipe that turned out to be quite delightful, I competently managed a pineapple ham and didn't screw up a tray of rice krispie treats. After all that work, to arrive at edible, competent food just doesn't seem worth all the effort.
A paid cook (for me and my sister)...
...Wish you were here.
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