
I love food. I love to cook it. I love to smell it. I love to eat it. My favorite foods are "waste" meats, like eyeballs and tripe, and broccoli. My roommate is not nearly as adventurous with food as I am. He sustains himself primarily on eggs, chips and salsa, and sandwich meats. I think this is mostly because he can't cook. I do cook for the two of us on occasion, but as he is the buyer of the groceries and I am the cooker of the food, I find there's very little I can do with such limited ingredients. Most of the time, I just dream about mac 'n' cheese when I eat a plain pastrami sandwich.
On a related side note (Don't worry, there's a segue.) I'm kind of stuck in the 70s. Long, unkempt hair, solid-colored clothing, understated shoes, the periodic emergence of a leather jacket, usually to go to shows. It's kind of ridiculous, and I never really think about it, but lately I've had a problem with "advancements in science". I am more concerned about contracting cancer from post-Green Revolution technologies than I am about being mugged downtown when I'm alone at night.
This naivete extends fully into my anti-microwave oven philosophy. I refuse to own one, and my roommate thinks that's completely bizarre. I guess I have to forgive him because he was born in the 90s, but I think it's preposterous to think a microwave oven is a kitchen necessity. In fact, I believe that's why my roommate eats such a limited variety of foods, because he can't cook without nuking something. I have only recently showed him the magic of a conventional oven, but he still insists on getting take-out choriqueso at restaurants whose waiters I like and complaining about his inability to re-heat it at home later. Sorry, dude. I don't want anything to do with something that produces heat without heat. Just don't get the queso.
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