The McBournie Minute: Cooking

Recently, I crashed at my friend Fernando's house after a night of carousing. This is nothing new for me, or Fernando for that matter. However, it was the morning after that something unusual happened.

I know where your mind is going, and stop it right now.

Fernando did what few men will do unless threatened with disfigurement: cook. He fired up the range, cracked a couple eggs, sliced up some turkey breast and made me a kind of omelet. Why would a person in possession of both X and Y chromosomes do such a thing voluntarily? He said he likes to cook.

This came as a shock to me, as my forays in the kitchen normally consist of boiling pasta, reheating day-old pizza in the microwave or throwing some fish sticks in the oven. Cooking is no source of joy in my life. Worst of all, it leaves a mess.

I feel this is fairly common with men old and young. We would sooner open a bag of chips than make something tasty. Besides, Chinese food is just a call away and the game is on. There is but one exception for this: the barbecue.

It is entirely and universally manly to grill things, normally burgers, hot dogs and chicken--preferably with beer in hand while doing so. Across the world, there are men clustering at grills, standing around in dead silence, occasionally poking the meat to see if it's done yet.

In my opinion, this is how men should cook. Because at the very least, there is the ever-present danger of burning one's eyebrows off, which always makes for entertainment for onlookers.