"I was 32 when I started cooking; up until then, I just ate."

Julia Child

 "Pobrecita," the old women said, shaking her head as she watched me iron her clothes. I was in Pacheco, just outside Buenos Aires, and I was ironing an old women's clothes for her as she sat in her rocking chair. Pobrecita is like saying "poor little thing." The old woman, living in a tiny two bedroom house with very little material things or any hope of ever having any, felt sorry for me -- because I was never going to get married. I may have had a roof over my head, a a college education, and an iPod waiting for me at home, but I didn't have the most important thing yet -- and apparently I never would. Ana, the old women, turned to my companion and said quietly (but obviously not quiet enough), "Ella nunca se va a casar." She is never going to get married. 

The sad part is, she was not the only old women to point this out. It was brought to my attention both in Buenos Aires, as well as in Tierra del Fuego -- an island at the bottom of the world. Even the penguins could see it. Ana saw my lack of potential in the way I ironed and folded her clothes. Adelina saw it in my awesome sewing skills (note the oozing sarcasm). And after getting a taste of my amazing cooking talent, Margarita declared the whole American female population incompetent and hopeless -- and of course, unsuitable for marriage. My Latin companions could always just whip up a tart, or pizza from scratch. I made toast -- and burnt it. To these women, women who probably began kneading dough before they could even reach the counter to do it, women who every day created a beautiful, LARGE meal from scratch for the entire family at lunch time, ironing, sewing, and cooking were what made a woman attractive as a potential wife. And all this time I thought my good looks and charm were going to win me my man! Now, while I don't worry about my lack of talent being a factor in my future (far in the future) marriage (I am, after all, a modern woman--burn the bras!), I can see how my kids might die of scurvy if all I feed them is burnt toast. Luckily, like Julia Child, it's never too late to learn! Up until now, I have just eaten. I'm 23. It's time I started cooking. 

I'm not quite sure how to go about accomplishing this new and grand aspiration. I almost feel that I should wait until I move into my new apartment -- my current apartment has already been through one fire. Ideally, I would make something once a week. Realistically, however, that may hurt my bank account given the fact that I currently eat only garden burgers and cereal every day. Well, I will think about it and get back to you (all three of you who read this blog). Maybe I can even blog about my adventures in cooking ala Julie style. Until then, I will continue on this dark and ever-so self-destructive path that can only lead to many, many, so many cats.

Buen Provecho!