Today was one of my days off this week. Which means it's my one day to cook for the rest of the week. I would like to say that this involves meticulous planning on my part.
It doesn't.
Usually it involves me sitting on the couch, suddenly sitting bolt upright shouting, "Crap! What do I have in the kitchen?"
So I rush in, putter around, and throw something together.
At the moment I have chicken thighs marinating in some concoction that I pray tastes good. Why? I can't remember what the hell I put in it. Unfortunately, if it tastes good, I won't be able to recreate it.
This is the way it always goes in my kitchen. There's a flurry of bottles and jars. And the end result, usually, is pretty tasty. But I can't recreate it. Ever. You'd think I'd learn.
Now baking...that's an entirely different story. I plan it out like a general going into war. I always know how much butter, flour, sugar, baking powder, and baking soda I have on hand. As well as chocolate chips, eggs, cocoa powder and extracts. I measure everything to a T and take notes if I tweak it. I can always recreate what I bake.
I'm sure there's some psychological reason to it. And, if I had time I'd try to figure it out. Frankly I don't care. I'm much more concerned if my dinner is going to taste good or not...
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