Confessions Of A Mediocre Foodie

Email this to a friend


Confessions Of A Mediocre Foodie

The other night after completing dinner, the taste of which I would give a soft 6, I tweeted:

I constantly peruse Buzzfeed for recipes, and I’ll even try out one or two per week. I got to thinking that I had become an early-20s male equivalent of a 1950s housewife, just clipping nice recipes for the family, and mindlessly churning out a broke man’s Chili’s. But as I got to thinking about it, it dawned on me that I’m not doing it out of necessity. I’m doing it because I actually enjoy it.

I’m just a mediocre foodie.

There’s something satisfying about finishing up a somewhat decent (but not great) version of the picture on the recipe. I’ve begun to enjoy flipping on the Food Network to see what kind of spices Rachel Ray is putting on that roast despite knowing that if I tried to make that, it would look like a diseased organ. My affinity for food has gotten to the point that I don’t even mind when a quality dish makes its way into my Instagram feed. I pretend to go along with everyone else and complain, but I don’t actually care. I want to be that person.

And you know what really gets my dick hard lately? A meat and pasta dish with a nice variety of fresh ingredients. I’m not the best chef in the world, but if I had a dollar for every recipe I’ve bookmarked because it looked doable, I’d have enough money to fund my multi-ingredient recipe addiction. If I’m cooking dinner, you better believe I’m not taking it easy. I’m going balls to the wall with a specialty one-pot dish.

Everyone has that friend that is just a born chef and looks like they could step out of their kitchen and right into a restaurant. Everything they make looks, smells, and tastes great, and they know what spice accentuates any item. I’m not that guy. I am to food what Happy Gilmore was to hockey — It’s ugly, but I’m gonna try like hell to make it work.

While I don’t have a specific knowledge of spices and flavors, I stand by my strategy of throwing random shit into a pan and letting it go to work. Sometimes, they come to fruition and I look like Bobby Flay, and other times, my flavors get rejected faster than someone sliding into Mia Khalifa’s DMs. While there’s always a recipe to follow, I want to be my own man and create my unique dish, usually for the worse. Recipes are basic, but goddammit, I’m a foodie now. I don’t have to follow the straight and narrow.

When I’m not cooking my own borderline travesties, I’m just appreciating food by way of my television. Usually through the GOAT, Guy Fieri. Before you jump down my throat, hear me out. Sure, he’s not a classic pro like Bobby Flay, but that guy is a fucking king, and an inspiration to the average lover of food. He managed to turn being overweight and being able to digest massive amounts of fat guy food into a multi-million dollar gig. He gives hope to every mediocre foodie on the planet that our lives aren’t destined to only consist of slightly burnt homemade chicken fingers with a custom dipping sauce that tastes like half BBQ and half ram’s piss.

I’ll fully admit that I enjoy watching Guy Fieri fat face bite into a gourmet buffalo wing, fully describe it, and then declare “That’s righteous brother.” I just look on in awe at the restaurant chef for having the skills to make something so glorious. And then the Ed Hardy wearing Guy Fieri for having someone paying him to eat it. He may look like a bloated, walking piece of fried chicken, but he’s got what I want.

One day, maybe I’ll be take my foodie obsession to the next level. Guy, when you read this, just know I’ll do anything. I’ll frost my tips, I’ll hand draw flames on every piece of clothing I wear, I’ll replace the phrase “that’s delicious” with “OH, THAT’S KILLER!” Just know that like you, I appreciate food. You may own multiple restaurants, while I own a few pots and pans and a spice rack that may be about to fall off my pantry door, but we are one in the same.

Slowly but surely, the dedication to the craft is paying off. Yeah, occasionally I’ll put a dish together that looks like Jabba The Hutt threw up Ebola, but for the most part, I’m making good things happen. My chicken parm is on point, and I’ve got a couple other wheelhouse dishes that I’ll stack up against any decent restaurant out there. Hell, they may even be Instagram worthy. Regardless, I’m a foodie now. And I’m proud of it.

Image via Shutterstock

Email this to a friend


Log in or create an account to post a comment.

Click to Read Comments (10)