I have never, to put it mildly, been one to cook. A New Yorker in the Carrie Bradshaw “My oven? You mean where I store my shoes?” vein, I cannot remember the last time I made something more complicated than a mixed drink in my kitchen. Once, seven or eight years ago, my friend David came over to try and teach me how to make a “simple” dish: a chicken-based stew. While we prepped, the oddly intricate salt-and-pepper shaker fell apart into the pot. We thought we had removed all the components, but when I was ladling the leftovers into a Tupperware after we finished eating, I found a … triple-A battery in the remains. As I tried to process the fact that we had just ingested a battery-flavored stew, the battery itself seemed to taunt me: You are not meant for this.
Now, during this...Read More