After he paid for an afternoon of drinks and then another evening of drinks and dinner, it’s my turn. “Dinner on me,” I offered in an email. Then continued, “one of these days I’ll have to learn how to cook.”
“How about this time?”
Gulp. I agreed and have been panicking ever since. My head is spinning with suggestions and emails of friends’ EASIEST recipes.
Omigosh, seared ahi tuna. You cannot go wrong!
Breaded pork cutlet. So simple!
Pasta and proscuitto. You can make it in your sleep!
Lounging on Marc’s couch the other night, I told him my predicament. “Marky, I agreed to cook for this guy. Can you believe it? I don’t know what I’m going to do.”
“So Catchy, I’m going to make the dinner.”
“NOOO! Of course not. I’m just going to have to learn.”
“Listen, you don’t want to fuck this up, alright? It’s all about marketing. And marketing is all about lying. I’ll come over, make the meal. It’ll be simple, but good, so it’s believable. And you can laugh when you’re older and it’ll be a story to tell.”
“That’s funny. Really, but no. I have to figure this one out.”
“Fine. This is the easiest recipe ever. I swear. I’ve made this countless times on a whim. Do you know how to boil? OK, you’re half-way there…”