Chef Alan

When I first met Mark, he made me dinner at his apartment in Fort Lauderdale. Steak on the grill, potatoes, asparagus, and a nice salad. It was pretty good, so I reciprocated a few days later. The only problem is that I hate to cook. It's how I maintained a hundred and fifty pound weight until the age of fifty years. Anyway, my idea of dinner had been to cook some meat and heat up some frozen vegetables. Every evening that was my dinner. Steak, very rare or chicken in a skillet. No breading on that chicken, only a little spice. Breakfast was usually a pork chop fried in the skillet and lunch was mostly salads. If food took longer to cook than it took for me to eat it, it wasn't worth my time. Mark hated the dinner I made for him that evening, but he kept it to himself

Mark moved in with me about twenty years ago and he insisted upon doing all the cooking. I did not argue with that. I have steadily gained weight since. Now, in our twenty first year, Mark has decided that I should cook. He has taught me how to cook breakfast, which I hate to do, and now he wants me to do more cooking for dinner. The problem is, once again, I hate to cook. Unfortunately I have proven that I can make a pretty decent pot of mashed potatoes. So I now have to make the potatoes for dinner. I have also proved that I can do a roast beef. Mark hasn't left that to me alone yet, but I do most of the work. There are a few other dishes that I have mastered, but I feel that I have been tricked. After lulling me into a food stupor for years, Mark has suddenly given me some responsibility in the kitchen. At least he has left one thing alone, I still get to clean up afterwards.