womankind’s Cooking Challenge
Day one - corn soup: My fingers fly across my phone typing things like, “easy dinners,” and “quick dinners easy”. I stumble across a corn soup recipe and I storm through the grocery aisles snapping cans of creamed corn from the shelf. I’m standing in the kitchen, regretting telling my new housemates about this cooking challenge especially since there’s a big emphasis on communal dinners. However, I can’t help but think cooking is a complete waste of time. I open the cans of corn, tip the contents into a pot with ginger and spring onion, stir it a bit and I’m done. My housemates compliment me that the soup is quite tasty and I think to myself that it wasn’t so bad after all.
Day two - spinach & feta muffin: I’m a bit cocky after my successful soup dish and want to try something a bit more authentic. I even turn to a cookbook and land on a spinach and feta muffin recipe. It’s perfect as all the ingredients are already at home except for the feta. “You can use this leftover bocconcini,” my housemate assures me. I trust her because she’s French and therefore must know about fine cuisine. Turns out, you really shouldn’t switch cheeses. The lack of salt from the bocconcini, which the feta would have provided, leaves me with a tasteless mess that has over spilled the muffin tin. They don’t resemble muffins at all but a crumbled atrocity with bits of green sticking out of it. I blame my housemate.
Day three - frittata: I’m pressed for time but I’ve already decided to make a quiche and bought all the ingredients in advance. I read the “pastry-less quiche” recipe on my phone. My housemates remark that my frittata looks nice cooking away in the oven. I tell them it’s a quiche, a pastry-less quiche in fact and nod knowledgeably. I know deep down it’s a frittata and I’m annoyed at my own laziness in not wanting to cook pastry. I check on my frittata at regular intervals, willing it to cook faster because it’s already 8:30pm. My housemates nibble at things not wanting to spoil their appetite. I open the oven door to check on the eggy mixture and the entire oven door snaps off and falls to the ground. I stare at the now gaping opening as my house-mates dance around the hot oven door like crabs.
Day four - takeaway pizza: The oven is out of order waiting to get fixed. Tonight, I’m ordering pizza because I’m too scared to cook anything or use kitchen appliances. I ask about sharing pizzas and my housemates give me a look as if to say I’m crazy. “So, one pizza each?” I ask, and they nod enthusiastically.
Day five - chocolate vegan dessert: The oven is fixed. Really it just had the same door stuck back on by the real estate. I decide to make a chocolate vegan dessert after a passionate household discussion about animal cruelty. This particular recipe wants me to use a whole cup of oil as the combining ingredient. A little bit wary of how much oil I was about to use, I mention it to my French housemate (I’ve decided to trust her again). She confirms that’s what the recipe says so I give it a go. The other housemate walks past and asks if there’s water on top of my brownie-like mixture sitting in a pan. “No, that’s oil,” I smile. The extremely worried look on her face is enough for me to stop attempting any more crazy recipes. I’ve offered to cook the corn soup again - just because you can’t go wrong if it’s from a can.
I arrive home to find a dead bird in the hall. A gift from the cat. After mopping up blood and feathers, I need a vegetarian dinner. I rummage in the veg box, which we get delivered from a local farm. Getting this delivery has forced us to broaden our palate, although we often have to post photos of vegetables on social media,
