If I Were a Better Cook
Two hopeless cooks and one very white kitchen
If I were a better cook, my life with Luka would be much calmer.
Sadly, I am almost as in the kitchen as he is.
Last weekend, I decided that our meals could not stay as boring as before.
"If I had real skills," I thought, "I would cook something as delicious as a restaurant meal."
I bought fresh vegetables and a cookbook as thick as a dictionary.
Luka watched me and said my chopping was as slow as a sleepy turtle.
"If you followed the recipe exactly, it would taste better," he advised proudly.
This was strange advice from a man whose cooking was as dangerous as a fire.
My soup soon smelled as strange as his famous black curry from before.
"If I added more salt, would it ?" I asked, feeling .
Luka tasted it and made a face as as a lemon.
"If I were you," he said kindly, "I would order a pizza right now."
We agreed that his idea was not as silly as it first sounded.
If we both cooked together, I hoped, the food might be twice as good.
Instead, the two of us made a as wide as the entire kitchen.
covered the floor, and the walls were nearly as white as snow.
"If my mother saw this," I sighed, "she would on the spot."
Luka laughed and said his own mother was as messy a cook as we were.
For the first time, his failure made me feel less alone in my own.
If I were honest, cooking badly together was oddly more fun than eating well.
We finally ordered that pizza, which tasted as wonderful as a five-star dinner.
"If we practised every week, we would ," Luka said hopefully.
I smiled, because his silly was as warm as the behind us.
Then the beeped, and we both remembered the bread we had forgotten inside.