Sunday Roast - Sunday Telegraph
Sunday Magazine October 17 2004
CAPTAIN NO-COOK
Forget simple recipes and impressive cooking programs - when it comes to all things culinary, Wil Anderson says he’s the Master of Disaster.
I can’t cook. I’m the only person I know who takes half an hour to make two minute noodles and, even then, I still manage to burn the water.
Bugger Aristos, my mates think I’m the real “Surprise Chef”, because if anything I make doesn’t give them food poisoning, they’re really surprised. When it comes to being bitchin’ in the kitchen or great on the hotplate, you don’t have to send away for a fact sheet to know that I’m not your Bachelor of Spatula.
To me, macaroni is the dance Peter Costello did with Kerri-Anne Kennerley; polenta comes out in childbirth; coddling is something you would do with a New Zealander after “sux”; and as far as I can work out, hummus is some sort of chickpea terrorist organisation.
I'm completely culinary challenged. To me, jasmine rice sounds like a drag queen; arrowroot could well be the nickname of archery groupies; kumera is an affordable small car from Holden; and bok choy sounds like some obscure martial art they demonstrated in The Matrix.
You know how they say too many cooks spoil the broth? Well, it only takes one Wil to turn a Cup A-Soup into a Cup A Puke. Put it this way, I'm so bad, I once spent two years in a flat and didn't even get the gas stove connected. In the end, I actually used the oven as a filling cabinet and, even now, the only reason I use my microwave is if I want to put metal inside it and pretend I'm watching the New Year's Eve fireworks.
My idea of a balanced diet is ensuring the cupboard is always well stocked with blue, red and green Pringles and making sure I drink both local and imported beer. Quite often, I only get my three serves of fruit a day if my bag of mixed lollies has bananas, raspberries and strawberries and creams.
That said, even if I wanted to cook, I wouldn't know where to start, I don't even have a recipe book at home, in fact, the closest I've ever come is the time I was board and arranged all my takeaway menus in alphabetical order.
Not that I can follow recipes anyway. In fact, I think I may have some sort of rare recipe dyslexia. I'd have more luck tying to translate the Dead Sea Scrolls than Donna Hay’s latest recipe for coffee scrolls.
Yep, I’m the guy who used to think the five spices in the five-spice powder were Scary, Sporty, Posh, Ginger and Baby, so is it any wonder I also thought al dente was a character from The Sopranos and fusilli was just fustupid that hadn’t been cooked properly?
You think I’m joking? I wish. I once tried to cook something with coconut milk, but gave up when I couldn’t find a coconut that had nipples. I’m also the guy who puts so much salt on his chips, Alisa Camplin tries to ski down them. I’m the guy who cooks cheese on toast by putting the cheese on the bread and then turning his toaster on the side.
Yep, if fine dining were a ship, then my kitchen would be the Bermuda Triangle. If good food were a crap singer, my pots would be Dicko. If haute cuisine were a backpacker, my stove would be Ivan Milat.
My fridge serves no purpose other than having somewhere to stick my government terrorism magnets, and it'’ been so long since I cleaned my non-stick frying pan, when I finally did, I found the brand name written on the bottom in hieroglyphics.
Unless you count heating up a few chicken rolls in the microwave at 7-Eleven for my pissed mates, I have never hosted a dinner party. In fact, it’s my worst nightmare.
I went to a mate’s place for dinner recently and he proudly informed me we would be having an “Aristos starter, a Jamie main, and a Nigella dessert.” If my mates came to my place, the best I could offer them would be a “Ronald starter, a Colonel main, finished off with a dessert by Sara Lee.”
But despite my hatred of cooking, the funny thing is I still absolutely love cooking shows. From The Naked Chef to Huey’s Cooking Adventures, I could watch cooking shows all day. But no matter how much I watch someone else cooking, I still have no desire to do it myself. (Then again, I also watch a lot of CSI and have never felt inspired to go out and cut up a body, either.)
No, I tend to watch cooking shows in the same way as I would watch porn. Sure, it looks easy and impressive up there on the screen, but if I tried it in real life, I can guarantee it would be a lot messier - the soufflé probably wouldn’t rise and, despite sending away for the fact sheet, I’d still get all the technical terms wrong.
Tahini was a finalist in Australian Idol, right?
Wil Anderson is the host of The Brekkie Showon Triple J with Adam Spencer, as well as co-host of The Glass House on ABC TV
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