Living alone in a studio apartment is great, in lots of ways. I don’t need to worry about anyone finishing the last of my milk, I can rock out to Lady Gaga when I roll out of bed at 7am if I feel like it, the only dirty dishes in the sink are my own and nothing is ever further than six steps away.
But one thing that living alone in a tiny apartment is not conducive to is cooking for others… and cooking for others happens to be one of my very favorite things to do. So whenever the opportunity to do so arises, I take advantage of it… and if the space between opportunities becomes too long for my liking, I bide my time until I can’t take it anymore and end up awkwardly blurting out an invitation to cook for whichever hapless victim lucky friend happens to be closest by.
This is exactly what happened this past Saturday night. I was on the phone with a friend making plans, talking about some party or other, and before I knew what was happening the words “Why don’t you come over and I’ll cook for you?” were out of my mouth. After a slight pause in which we both registered a touch of surprise (hers at the non-sequitor, mine from some distant corner of my brain that was dimly beginning to realize it was most definitely not in the driver’s seat), she accepted.
It wasn’t until after I hung up the phone that I remembered this friend is a carnivore: a big meat-lover.
I mean that literally. This girl has gushed about a good piece of meat with such passion that it practically made me blush… on more than one occasion.
Now, I don’t call myself a vegetarian — I definitely enjoy meat, fish and seafood on occasion — but I very rarely buy and cook it. In fact, I would venture to say that roughly 85% of what I make for myself on a regular basis (and therefore know how to cook) ends up being vegetarian.
And I definitely don’t have meat just sitting around my refrigerator, lying in wait for an impromptu dinner invitation for its chance to shine at the center of the plate.