By: Michael Day

Cooking always seemed so challenging to me. The raging fire right beneath my hands, the level of precision only rivaled by stone carving, and the correct balance of greens and meat were so terrifying I never gave it a try. But it turns out cooking isn’t so hard.

This afternoon, my mom, who always cooks for me, gave me a challenge. That challenge was to make myself lunch. At the top of my head, I decided to make a sandwich. That was easy, just get a loaf of bread, cut it in half, and fill it with a piece of ham, cheese, and lettuce. While eating my sandwich, I felt discontent. It was a while since I was faced with a real challenge. So I decided to make myself some pasta.

At first, everything went well. I turned up the fire (after nearly burning myself), poured some water and some pasta into the stove, and waited. I set a 3-minute timer for myself and went to watch a YouTube video. A few minutes later, I went to check on the stove, the 3-minute timer was long over, and I scrambled for a plate. In a hurry, I flew open the high cabinet and tried to reach for the plate, which was just out of reach. I climbed up onto the counter and grabbed the first plate I saw. Unfortunately, it was the smallest one. I knew it couldn’t fit the amount of pasta I put in it, but that didn’t matter. I needed to get the pasta out fast. I twisted the nob, turning off the fire much more violently than it was used to, and grabbed the handle of the stove. Despite it being plastic, the constant heat made it as hot as lava. I grabbed a towel and rushed to put it on the counter, boiling water splashed onto the floor, some on my pants and legs. I silently shouted in pain and quickly moved the pasta onto the plate, much of it falling off. Picking up the pasta was like a game of hot potato, pick up, throw onto a plate, pick up, throw onto a plate. Once everything settled down, there was a moment of silence when only the timer was beeping. I turned it off and started to dig in.

I will admit, the pasta was pretty good; but was it worth the effort? Getting my legs burned, feeling endlessly traumatized for 4 whole minutes straight, and making a lot more noise than expected on a gloomy Friday afternoon? That was a tough question. That is until 30 minutes later. I felt like I wanted to puke. I was in the bathroom for an hour.