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Five-star [fake] chef

I've never been the most consistent of people. Two weeks ago, for example, I announced that I would never, ever own a onesie. I now own a onesie. In my defence, it was a Christmas gift, but you, er, get the drift. The only thing that's consistent about me is the fact that I always sneeze twice.
This blog is a fantastic example of my inconsistency. "I'll update this at least once a week," I said, my innocent eyes wide in wonder and hope as I created a Blogger account. Well, past self, let me tell you something: don't ever trust anything that comes out of the mouth of a student.
Here's another example of my inconsistency. Remember the wok? The cooking utensil that I very nearly catapulted through the window because it confused me so much? I bloody want it, now. I'm not entirely sure how it happened, but, in the space of a year, I've somehow gone from 'MAM I THINK I JUST SET THE BACON ON FIRE' to 'right guys don't panic yes I know the bacon's on fire but don't worry I just want to lightly smoke it believe me it's going to taste good please don't phone the fire brigade again'. Honestly, I really reckon my cooking has improved. Don't believe me? Listen to these satisfied customers:

  • "Whoa! The pasta doesn't stick together!"
  • "I never knew celery, hot sauce and slightly off cheese could go together."
  • "Are you certain the bacon is meant to be on fire?"
  • "I'm getting the fire extinguisher."
Minus the occasional flaming sausage or blackened chicken breast, I really do think I'm getting better at this whole cooking malarkey. Heck, my housemates ask me for advice! Apparently, because I've mastered the perfect omelet and grilled cheese sandwich,  I'm now the go-to fellow for all your culinary needs. In other words, I bought a cookbook and like to pretend I'm a Hannibalesque chef. Minus the cannibalism. And the chef part, come to think of it.
It irritates me when students live up to their stereotype and resort to feeding themselves with undercooked takeaways and sixteen-pence instant noodles from Tesco. True, I do occasionally eat these things myself because damn that hot dog from Oceana tastes good and damn I could marry the creator of packaged dried noodles, but it's sad when students actually eat nothing else but these things. I don't really buy into these 'I can't cook' or 'I'm too busy' excuses. Unless you're a medicine student who is in approximately forty-eight different societies and has been cursed by a voodoo heathen to forever burn whatever they're trying to cook, you're lying. Or allergic to kitchenware.

I'm not saying that students ought to become five-star chefs and start making lobster thermidor for breakfast. I mean, noodles and takeaways are pretty excellent, but they start to lose their charm when you realise that the last time you had one of your five-a-day was when an Innocent representative handed you a kids' fruit pouch outside Boots sometime last September. I already live up to the vast majority of student stereotypes, from staying up until four in the morning writing a forgotten assignment to almost passing out in ecstatic euphoria when I see a ten-pack of Magners for half-price. I don't need any more stereotypes added to my extensive repertoire.
Pick up a butternut squash and a Kitchen Devil, friend; it's time to pretend you're a chef. You can make some pretty good meals with instant noodles, you know.

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