THE NAKED CHEF

The picture above is the logo for MetalSucks' cooking show. Check out the site here www.metalsucks.net.

So, as I have previously informed everyone, I am now in the lamentable state of no longer having a better half. Whilst this current state of affairs (oh dear, DID I just use THAT word?) offers it's obvious benefits, one of the immediately evident drawbacks is that I have to cook for myself. Now, I am not a foodie, but I do enjoy a good meal and have been thoroughly spoiled all these years.

A bit of background. This is the first time I am not sharing an abode with anyone. Yes, I have the whole house to myself. Up until this point in my existence the very thought of cooking and all that dull preparation and chopping and burning and bollocks has filled me with utter dread, so much so that I have always had a deal of "you cook, I clean." Which works out brilliantly for both parties concerned as most people hate cleaning. I quite enjoy it. I find it cathartic. Also, people tend to leave me the fuck alone, which is a rarity.

A side note. Whilst most of you look at the heading of this post and think it's all about me wearing ONLY a little apron and prancing around in the kitchen by myself, it isn't. There's no point. Although I have been known to make breakfast in the very same attire...

Anyway, back to me having to bone up on my exceptionally limited culinary skills. I have always been able to make one or two dishes. They're dead easy and not even I could fuck them up. Although I have contrived to do so on many an occasion. But jeesh I got gatvol of chicken burgers after a few weeks!

So I took to the challenge of becoming Jaime Oliver Number Two. Much like a duck takes to water. Infested with piranhas...

I am however, thrilled to announce that I have finally "mastered" the tricky art of cooking. Vodacom must loooooove me - I have made countless flustered phone calls to The Demonic Sibling, who happens to be a gourmet chef renowned the world over, in a panic wanting to know which spice goes with whatever, whilst putting a fire out in the sink. Not to mention the few cubic tons of food I've had to discard due to horribly failed attempts.

But now dear readers I have come of culinary age! I made a stew last night. All by myself. Ok, I consulted The Demonic Sibling once or twice, but there was no physical supervision. And maybe the preparation took an hour longer than it would take a seasoned kitchen veteran, but it's the end result that counts. Even The Band Mates commented on how wonderfully aromatic it smelled. Their magnanimity was short lived as I kept on ducking to the kitchen to "check on supper" between songs...

Anyway, I REALLy enjoyed my din dins last night. I had a nice celebratory glass or 6 of cheap ass plonk to mark the occasion as well and promptly passed out while watching the footie, in "magie vol oogies toe" bliss.

It had better be good - I'll be eating it for the next week.

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