I fried an egg.

by Will

Two days ago, I fried an egg for breakfast, put it on two pieces of wheat bread, and ate it. I haven’t thought too hard, but I’m pretty sure this is the first non-cereal breakfast I have ever prepared myself. I am 35 years old.

I resent cooking the way all of our parents resent computers. It’s not that I dispute its value as a skill, but I don’t like doing it because I am bad at it. And because I’m bad at it, I never want to learn enough to become un-bad at it. Normally, I don’t like admitting when I fall into classic “man-woman” behavior (“Women be shopping!”) but this is a relevant anecdote: Eliza was over last week and talked me through searing (or something) a piece of salmon.

Her: “Put some butter in a pan.”
Me: “How much butter and which pan?”
Her: (holding fingers apart) “This much.” (pointing) “Your only pan.”
Me: (wanting an exact number) “How much is that?”
Her: (doing it herself) “That much.”

And I realized that dealing with me in the kitchen is like what I feel like talking people through with computer problems.

Me, on phone with client: “Close your web browser.”
Client: “How?”
Me: “You see how your web browser is a rectangle, and there’s an X in the upper right hand corner. Click that X.”
Client: “Why didn’t you just say that?”

I have always felt those people HATED their computers, and that if they just LIKED them a bit more, it would all be so much easier. But I realize now that to them, it’s not hate. It’s disinterest and an discomfort with being completely at sea. They would order all their computer service to-go if they could.

Many times in my life, I’ve been willing to put myself out of my comfort zone and learn despite the awkwardness of sucking: traveling through Europe, moving to NYC, learning improv comedy, learning computer programming, trying new types of clothes, exploring new types of music, approaching near-strangers at parties where I know no one.

But with cooking, never. Sometimes I think it’s because I don’t care enough about food to even know what I like and don’t like. Or it’s the time: I invariably run from my day job to some sort of comedy nonsene, not getting home until 10:30 at least, at which point cooking will always lose when it’s a choice between spending an preparing a bland salmon and getting sticky chicken and broccoli in my hands in 10 minutes. Or something more personal and powerful? I sometimes wonder if it’s because my mom died when I was 16, and I’m waiting for her to come back and teach me how. Then again, it wasn’t like I had any interest in learning when I was 16, either.

Whatever the reason, I don’t have the foggiest notion of even the most basic cooking tasks.

But I’ve been trying to write every morning. And I’m starving, right away upon awakening. And if I go to a deli, my momentum of writing is broken.

So two days ago at 7:15am, I lumbered over to my skillet. I turned the flame on high, and rubbed about four Scrabble tiles worth of butter along the bottom. After two minutes, I could feel the heat coming off of the pan. I cracked an egg and spilled its contents in the pan. Because my apartment is badly sloped, everything pooled to the side in a thick pool, and that’s normally where I’d quit. But instead I tilted the pan and held it so everything was even, then turned the flame down as low as it would go. In two more minutes, the egg started to harden, resembling a novelty fried egg that you’d leave on someone’s desk or something. I flipped it, and laid on some pre-sliced cheddar cheese, whose edges softened into the whiteness until it looked like a patch in a quilt. I scooped everything out onto a piece of wheat bread and gobbled it like a rude child. Twas a bit rubbery in spots, runny in others. But edible! Decent, even. And fast. Including rinsing the pan so the butter wouldn’t cake, the whole thing took about 15 minutes.

I guess that wasn’t so hard.