I used to think cooking was a lot like practicing medicine. Sure… you can try to perform your own micro-dermabrasion but it’s really left better for the experts. Less blotchy. I guess I’m altogether skeptical of the whole DIY phenomenon. Maybe it’s because I’ve seen too many self-induced injuries of innocent homeowners that I can only attribute to Home Depot’s brilliant “you can do it, we can help” ad/lie. No, you can’t do it. What you can do is saw off your finger. Oh, Home Depot. They should just tell people something more realistic. Something along the lines of, “you can try to do it if you insist and then the nice doctors and even nicer nurses at your nearest healthcare facility can help repair the damage.” Not as catchy, I know. But I digress. Last week, Monday to be precise, I flipped open my shiny red Peace Corps cookbook for the first time and realized I’ve been living a complete lie! Seriously, I know how dramatic that sounds, but I feel like my life changed when I opened this book. I’ll never go back to rice and Blueband again. OK, maybe just twice a week. Three times tops…I’m sentimental. But did you know you can make just about anything you want from just a few key ingredients? Or that it’s possible to make your own granola bars?? Or wait, even crazier news is that you can make your own egg noodles. I stared at that particular recipe for about 5 minutes before I believed it. And now that I believe it I sometimes open the cookbook to the egg noodle recipe just for a laugh. Egg noodles! I guess all these years I had imagined some magical egg noodle factory in a far off land staffed by cute, wrinkly Italian women who in one hand hold those giant wooden spoons that look like paddles and in the other hand clutch the secret egg noodle recipe passed down orally for generations and only recently recorded on paper. I’m going to make egg noodles. Matter of fact I just finished making my own granola and I have to say Kashi has nothing on me. Chocalate pudding, however, should be left to Jello. Other things I had no idea I could make from the comfort of my quaint, mouse infested home include sour cream, refried beans, potato gnocchi, chocolate syrup, vegetable burgers and the list goes on an on. My mice will be thrilled.
If all goes well with my new DIY cooking experimentation I won’t end up blotchy and seeking medical attention at my local healthcare facility, especially since my nearest healthcare facility is basically run by mice. Sure, I may gain a few kilograms but Ugandans love to tell me how fat I’m growing each and every beautiful morning anyway, seemingly regardless of my actual physical appearance. Even a serious case of giardia at the start of the year didn’t put a damper on the number of fatty compliments I received. Even better than hearing how obese I’ve become is whenever somebody asks me if I have a baby “in there” and gives my stomach a cute little poke. I was telling another volunteer I’m probably going to punch the next person who says that to me in the face and then blame my rash behavior on all the pregnancy hormones. Pregnant women can get away with anything! Plus I figure that would be a great excuse to eat chocolate syrup covered vegetable burgers.
On a side note, speaking of pregnancy, it seems as though about half of the nurses at my hospital are busy enjoying various levels of morning sickness and pitting edema. The hospital administator is losing hair because by Ugandan law, new mothers are entitled to sixty WORKING DAYS of 100% paid maternity leave, the equivelent of around 8.5-9.5 weeks. Yes, Uganda may be exceptionally lagging in gay rights in comparison to the developed world but they do seem to have the right idea when it comes to the rights of women in the workplace. It's almost as if Ugandans think it's important for a mother to be able to bond with her newborn future leader of the world without a great deal of financial stress. Strange concept. Now I'm not claiming every organization in Uganda complies by this law but it's a start. Plus, female staff members don’t even have to go into an obligatorily provided broom closet to breastfeed. Every bench, corner or supermarket is their designated breast feeding space, no blanket required.
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