I had a college roommate who didn’t know how to cook. I’m not talking about no experience making “real” food, I’m talking I never saw her cook anything. Ever. Instead, each day she’d come home with fast food for lunch and dinner. She was an only child and her parents were both in busy, professional careers, so they always ordered takeout. She said she didn’t remember her mom making anything other than a sandwich after she hit age four.
My other roommates and I enjoyed cooking and baking. We frequently joined forces to make meals on the weekends, and often made treats for the apartment. Our sweet non-cooking roommate expressed guilt at enjoying the fruits of our labors while never participating, but we didn’t mind.
Once, on our weekly grocery shopping trip, the culinary challenged roomie approached our cart with a huge smile and obvious excitement on her face.
“Look, guys!” she held up a package of Chips Ahoy. “It says ‘Heat for a warm treat!’ Now I can make something for you!” We congratulated her on her find and finished our shopping.
Later that evening we were enjoying a movie together when our sweet roommate offered to heat up her cookies for all. We told her that would be great, and she popped into the kitchen to throw them in the microwave then came back to watch the movie. It must’ve been at a captivating point because it was a few minutes later that I realized she had returned without the cookies.
“Hey (name redacted to protect her reputation), what happened to your warm treat?” I asked.
“It’s the in microwave.”
“How long did you put in in for?”
“How long should I have put it in for?”
“Like 15 seconds.”
She sprinted to the kitchen and hit the button to open the still running microwave. Black smoke filled our apartment and she emerged carrying a plate with a half dozen cookie-sized charcoal circles. Turned out she thought they had to be baked, like cookie dough, and had set the microwave to run full force for five minutes.
Photos from Spokane, Washington