The Bigger You Are, The Better You Cook … The Better You Feel?

I’ve gained 36 pounds in one year. Yep, not good. From a decent 178 (the lowest I can ever remember weighing since I was 14) to a plump 214. Laziness plus office job plus eating like a damn horse will do that to you. Adding on meds that help retain weight (allegedly) and there you have me, all chubby and odd-shaped and shit.

Crazy thing is, I’m not too down about it. Yes, I need to lose weight. Yes, my family has a history of health problems related to weight. Yes, it sucks not to be able to wear clothes that you bought only five months ago. But for some strange reason, my confidence isn’t down. I’ve always been on the plus side of things, so now is no different.

But it is different in this respect: I cook like a maniac.

MANIAC. Culinary goodness is my hobby. I slay. My Dad always loved my food but the rest of the family is on board. My grandmother, who is a culinary killer in her own right, loved my food this weekend. My Aunt had the nerve to say that my shit is pretty much gourmet. Proud? Hell yes.

I remember taking GRAVE offense to someone telling me that I "look like [I] don’t cook.” I was baffled by the statement, not because it wasn’t partly true – I cooked sparingly then – but because there is a look associated with being a great cook. The kicker was the “not that you don’t cook but that you don’t cook well.” I died. My Dad agreed with that statement but went on to say that “it’s better to prove that you can cook when people say that you can’t versus the other way around.”

I found it crazy that the more weight I gained, the better cook I have become. Maybe it’s a off-base correlation. I cook more now because I have the time, who knows. I don’t fry and I pretty much keep my ingredients as fresh as possible, so that would help me lose weight, right?

So this is good thing? This will ultimately make me feel better? Bring on the blender!