Cook Cook Cook

Cook is kind of a weird word, isn't it? I mean, look at it for a few minutes; say it aloud or in your head a dozen times.

Cook cook cook cook cook cook cook ... weird.

Aaaaaaanyway ....

I've been a homebody of late and cooking dinner (this also helps me save money, which I have none of anymore). I could only bestir myself to heat up soup this weekend, but I made an excellent tuna/white bean salad yesterday and ate the leftovers for lunch today (more frugality, yay!).

And tonight, I tackled the simple yet dreaded staple of dinners across America: marinara sauce. I figured, what could be so hard? A little mirepoix, a can of tomatoes, some herbs, good olive oil. Tonight, add a bit of meat to make Bolognese. Stash the leftover sauce for lunch.

Easy, right?

It was, sort of. I realized how quickly you fall out of the habit of cooking. The little things -- like dicing carrots -- don't come to hand so easily anymore. Every task takes longer. You can no longer season by instinct; you have to taste assiduously and adjust often. In the case of my marinara, I probably ought to have minced more garlic and added less basil.

Still, it feels really good to cook. Sure, I get a bit frantic while trying to chop, stir, rinse and peel simultaneously, but there's a sort of peaceful mindlessness to it. After a day -- a life -- filled with endless choices and directions and possible routes, it's nice to come home and only have to ask myself: does this taste good?

And if not, well ... just add a little salt. It almost always does a dish good.