Plunging into domestication

Talk about being domesticated. One of my besties Rachel and I are concocting our very own improvised potato salad! Yay!

I shall let yall in on an embarrassing fact about myself – I’ve never practically stepped into the kitchen before. Well, ‘cept to peek at what Dubby is doing. LOL. Not to that extent of course. I exaggerated, but the truth is more or less embedded within that sentence. I can have Dubby to vouch for that.  oh yes.

Wow is the word. I never thought I’d lived to hear myself say, “Hey! MY cut-up carrots looks so nice.” Thing is, I couldn’t care less about how I cut it up, using what method whatsoever. Certain cut-ups are called ‘Julienne’ and so on and so forth. Earth to carrots??? Look, there are even names of how to cut you puny little things up. How grand can you be?

I’d also never thought I’d hold a carrot the way I held it just now, let alone cut it up into lil unsymmetrical cubes all by myself. Omigosh. Kitchens can be awfully warm too.

I know I look ridiculous doing this. In orange, I even resemble a carrot myself. =(

 

But hey, it turned out alright. (TO ME)
Again, shut up, three of you. I know, they are all pieces of jagged whatnots to you. Nothing like your perfect diced-cubes, matchsticks, paper-thin slices, parallel shreds or the work of your deft hands that upstages mine anytime.

At the end of the day, they are still edible.

Potatoes, Japanese cucumber, Japanese mayo, my lovelylovely carrots and other nonsense too. The boiling potatoes look so adorable gurgling haphazardly while bobbing up and down (inset). Eggs voluntarily jumped into the pot of boiling water after the potatoes, waiting to be hardboiled.

After lots of smashing, mixing, tasting, improvising and mashing… here we are, standing proud with our fruits of labour