FUTURE LOVERS!

MPB

Before we get deep into the cooking, Gabi and I want to introduce ourselves properly. You’ve got to be wondering who the hell we are and why you should bother listening to us. Well, I’m a comedy writer living in Los Angeles and Gabi is an accomplished chef. Gabi will be our sage cook throughout this book and I will be our more novice hot mess chef.

So, I’ll start with my hot-messness. One of my main problems in life is that I really do not want to grow up. In my adolescence, I’d wake up crying in the middle of the night realizing I was going to age and eventually have to leave my parents’ home. I’d like to be a true baby forever. My calculations have proven this impossible, so I’ve begrudgingly aged, fighting it harshly every step of the way. Refusal to accept certain responsibilities has left me acting like a hot mess for most of my twenties.

Sure, there are times when being a hot mess is fun and glamorous, like in a mainstream romantic comedy, but then there are also times when it’s really fucking terrible, like in an indie romantic comedy. I once ate dirt after seeing a YouTube video of someone else doing it. And it wasn’t even the right kind of dirt. It’s supposed to be, like, clay and I ate from a potted plant. I’ve never gone into full self-destruct mode in a visible way, although doing so seems very old-Hollywood chic, but I’ve never really taken care of myself in a serious way either, until recently.

I’d already been going to therapy and had even downloaded a meditation app on my phone (and used it like three times), but I still needed to make changes to my everyday life. I needed to do things like sleep in feet-softening gel socks every night, actually finish Infinite Jest, and finally, I needed to learn how to cook. (Probably never going to finish IJ.)

My mother rarely cooked when I was growing up, and when she did, she’d yell at me to get out of the kitchen. I also am pretty certain I was born without motor skills. I do love mixing things together though. Like, I was always the friend who put too much extra shit in the cake batter so no one would eat it. My friends thought I was sloppy and disgusting. I thought I was creative and that I might grow up to be a fairly decent chef. I was right. And if I can cook, then you can cook.

And I swear you will like it, or I hope you will like it. Honestly, sometimes just opening my pantry to see that I have flour in my house reminds me that I’m a human. Noticing dirty dishes in my sink reminds me that I had friends over for dinner last night and that I probably won’t die alone. Cooking also can distract you from your problems when you’re in a panic. It makes people like you and makes you want to entertain. Most importantly, it’s a great way to seduce people.

Are you still not convinced that you can cook? Okay, well then: read this book, and all our stories, and let us show you how cooking has helped us, or how it could have helped us, in our messiest moments.

I love you and the person who bought you this book, but I promise to always love you more.