Cooking is a hobby that I’ve come to enjoy only in the past couple of years. I’m still very clearly a novice; each new recipe generally warrants 3-4 phone calls to my mother, from the preliminary “can I substitute dark brown sugar for light brown sugar?” to the frustrated “I can’t get this roux to bind! Fuck gumbo.” While musing over my slowly expanding cooking skill set (not to mention waistline), my girlfriend remarked that I should start a blog to document my experiences. I’m used to writing for an academic audience and am generally unsure of my voice for more casual readers, so all my previous attempts at blogging have never really come to fruition (ha! get it?) However, this is primarily a space for me to chart my own learning and progress, and to note excellent restaurants I’ve visited and recipes I’ve tried along the way. Maybe I’ll even snap a photo or two, as I think this is a much more attractive posting forum for an awkward photo of guacamole in bad lighting than is bombarding my friends’ news feeds on Facebook.
Living in two mid-sized cities (St. Louis and Washington DC) has made it possible for me to trick myself into thinking I’m a pretty cosmopolitan queer. However, after cooking a decadent macaroni and cheese, organizing my closet, and arranging my shirts in chromatic order this weekend (I was involved in only one of these tasks: I’ll let you guess which), it hit me like a pie in the face: I am the domesticated butch.