Bon appetit!

I had cereal for breakfast this morning. After my run, I had cereal again for lunch. By the time the sun was going down, I had already decided on spending the evening at home, which brought up thoughts about dinner. "Hmmm... Shall I make it three for three?" No, no. I decided to kill two birds with one stone: I'd vary the day's food intake and partake in a fun activity. I would cook something!

Now, if you've known me longer than, say, an hour and a half, you know I don't cook. Period. One reason is I really do love cereal. This is a holdover from my childhood and I don't see this facet of my being disappearing. (Cereals of choice have changed somewhat though. And I made the switch from whole to skim milk years ago.) Another reason is prior to moving to Mission, I had a 300-square-foot studio apartment. My kitchen cabinets were used as general storage, so even if I had been culinarily inclined, there was no room for pots, pans, and other cooking accoutrements.

Which leads to this evening. I have a fully stocked kitchen where I'm living. So, I headed over to the grocery store for the ingredients for tonight's meal: penne pasta with sauce and garlic bread. I figured any moron can make pasta.

I had a conundrum right off the bat: The jar of sauce lacked instructions. Do I just put this stuff in a pot and wait for it to boil? I figured that was the case, so I did just that while my penne water was heating to a boil. It didn't take long before the sauce began burping bubbles. Is that supposed to happen? Adjustment made...

I got the penne in the pot and threw the bread in the oven. From there, it was just stir and wait. When the penne finished up, I dished some onto a plate and poured the sauce on top. And... It was really good! So good, in fact, that I completely forgot about the bread. Those pups were briquets. A plume of smoke rose from inside the oven, so I hit the button for the fan. That's when what looked like shredded wood chips rained down from the exhaust and into the open pot of sauce and all over the stovetop. I couldn't distinguish spice from wood, so adios to the sauce. A peril of living in an old building, I guess.

Thankfully, I'm not too good for plain pasta and parmesan cheese. After shoveling the penne down (I was hungry, evidently), it was time for dishes, an activity I've learned I somewhat enjoy. But I really wanted some bread. I fixed up another piece, placed it into the oven, and commenced dishwashing. The oven must have still been pretty warm, because it was black by the time I finished the dishes. I had even turned on the oven's timer. Oh well. It just wasn't meant to be.

Tonight's end result was two plates of penne in my stomach, half a jar of sauce and three pieces of blackened bread in the trash. Tomorrow, I'm going back to my cereal. And I'm heading over to LaCosta's for the Super Bowl and dinner. There's a chance the Bacon Explosion may be making an appearance, so no cooking for me. An angioplasty, on the other hand...

Now, I'm off to have some ice cream. That I can handle.