Last night, I microwaved two already-cooked hot dogs and hamburgers. That was my dinner.
It's worth saying because first off, I didn't come down with salmonella like everyone thought I would. Second, my cooking abilities pale in comparison to, oh, anybody. I'm a very good microwave jockey, and I also specialize in the Foreman grill. Want me to show off? Ask me to heat up a piece of meat while I nuke some mashed potatoes.
If this is genetic, it has to come from my grandfather. He once microwaved two eggs. One exploded before he opened the door. The other blew up in his hand. After that, he limited his cooking to the relatively safe preparation of a peanut butter sandwich.
I once used to brag that I was great at cooking spaghetti. I'm not talking about hand-making the pasta or the sauce, rather the act of boiling water and putting linguine in it. I stopped bragging when I realized everybody is good at making spaghetti.
Someday, I will be a better chef. Like anything it will take work. For now, I've just got to make do. I think I'll have steak tonight. I just have to remember how long to take to cook it in the microwave.