I didn't always have an aversion to cooking. In fact, some of my fondest childhood memories are of my mother and I baking cheese straws and homemade bread in our cramped kitchen in Brooklyn. But as I got older, she and I stopped cooking and I spent most of my time with my head in a book, juggling junior high with all the homework I got from Prep. There hardly was time for cooking when I was 11 and 12, and eventually my interests turned to music, TV and thinking about boys when I entered high school.By the time I got to college, cooking wasn't even on my radar. I wasn't about to whip out a pot or pan when I had McDonald's, Wendy's, Wes Wings, Cup-O'-Noodles, Niblets corn and Chef Boyardee at my disposal. The most "cooking" I ever did at Wesleyan entailed frying kielbasa in a pan.
And the deeper entrenched in my 20s I became, the more often I would hear the same question: "How are you going to feed your husband?"
Excuse me?
"What are you going to do when you get married?"
My response: "Eat bologna sandwiches, I guess."
