I often like to share stories of how far I’ve come with my cooking. I’ve never considered myself a “bad” cook, I just rarely did so out of no interest. While today I feel like I know my way pretty well around a kitchen, I can’t help but to think about those few soul crushing moments in my past that left me questioning my ability to be domestic.
The time that stands out the most is when a really good guy friend and I had a moment one night. We had always been friends and then out of no where he kissed me at a house party. Sparks flew and I knew something was there. Maybe it was the alcohol that led us to act on feelings that were obviously suppressed, but it happened.
He ended up coming back to my apartment that night and we stayed up all night talking. No sex. Just intimate conversation until we both knocked out in my bed fully clothed.
The next morning we woke up and I asked if he wanted breakfast. He responded yes so I hopped in the kitchen and decided to whip of some eggs. Easy enough right?
I made some eggs, grits, bacon, toast, with a side of juice and thought it presented pretty well. We scarfed down the food in bed and continued the conversation from the previous night. Luckily there was no awkwardness or regrets as we were now sober.
After another hour of laughing, talking, and everything in between, he got quiet and excused himself to the bathroom.
I sat in silence as it sounded to me like he was throwing up. He was in there for a good 5 minutes. My immediate response was “OMG was it my food?!”
I was so embarrassed that when he came out I pretended to be cleaning up in the kitchen. To this day, neither one of us have mentioned that morning and what caused him to throw up.
It could’ve very well been my food or maybe it was from the night of drinking, who knows. It will remain a mystery.