These past few weeks of social distancing have really gotten me to look at things in my apartment differently. I’ve found the desire to do stuff I’ve never considered before. After living here for five years, I found myself in the kitchen one evening learning that the square thingy my Keurig sits on has been a stove all this time. Who knew? I thought my apartment had a stove. I’d just never known where it was located.

Finding the stove opened up a whole new world of opportunities to me. Once I learned how to turn it on, I got a bit excited. Cooking for myself would stop me from eating at McDonald’s every night. Granted, McDonald’s is known to sell quality, gourmet foods, but how many Big Macs can one person eat in a day?

On a side note, I had to learn the hard way that stoves do not come with a remote. Also, they are not turned on and off by a light switch. Believe me. I tried. Making matters a bit more challenging, I never figured out how to connect my oven to the WiFi. I looked through the manual and found nothing, so I called the manufacturer to complain.

Once I got the stove turned on successfully, I ran into a new problem. I needed things to cook with. The pots and pans in my cabinet practically disintegrated when I touched them. Legend has it that they were given to my grandma as a gift during The Great Depression. I won them from her in an Uno game. I actually won her house and her life savings during that game too, but I let her keep the house because I’m a good person.

At some point in history, I’m sure the pots and pans were black, but they’d become grayish from years of Teflon and non-stick coating materials flaking off into my food. Whenever someone noticed black specks in their Cream of Wheat or macaroni and cheese, I told them it was pepper. No reason to upset people. Perhaps Teflon is good for you. The verdict is still out.

I also needed pots and pans for protection. If you’ve ever watched a horror movie, then you know a sturdy pot can come in handy during a zombie apocalypse. I believe my main superpower is pot slinging. You should see me with a skillet! One minute your making pancakes, and the next you’re taking out two burglars before realizing it’s just your mom and dad surprising you for a visit. Don’t blame me. They should’ve called first.

Before making a life decision about cookware, I did my research. If you know anything about me, then you know I settle for nothing less than the best. I wanted a set of pots and pans that would last me a lifetime, and I was not willing to pay any more than $12 for them, which was $5 more than my original budget.

My journey for quality cookware found me taking over aisle G28 at Walmart. Due to the coronavirus, Walmart was only letting a few people in at a time. The greeter gave me ten minutes to get in and get out, and I knew he meant business. The last time I ignored his warnings, I was tased and arrested right there in front of the deli meats.

I set up shop on the cookware aisle as if I were in the Hunger Games. I found myself checking my watch and spreading out the boxes for comparison purposes. When people tried to squeeze past me, I growled at them. Of course, this had no effect. After all, it’s a Walmart. Customers are used to people growling there. I quickly adapted my technique and began making dramatic motions to show I needed to cough or sneeze. Everyone scampered away pretty quickly then. Even the Walmart greeter hastily retreated when he came to confiscate me. Sadly for him, there would be no tasing of a Michael that day.

Long story short, I got pots y’all. And not just any pots. I got ones with sturdy handles and everything. Now, I’ve never been one to overly toot my own horn, but I consider this a much-needed win for humanity. No longer will I be restricted to cold cereal when McDonald’s is closed. My cheerios will be strictly gourmet from now on.

Now that I have adult cookware, I’ve been boiling and sautéing everything within arm’s reach. Yes, it’s true that I simmered my tube of toothpaste the other evening. I’ve also tried my hand at a yellow mustard soup. I’ve gotten so good at cooking that I recently boiled some chai tea like it was nobody’s business. I’m so great at it that I refuse to take my mama’s calls unless she refers to me as Chef Boyar-Tea.

After boiling virtually everything in my house (cellphone included), I’ve looked for new things to cook and new recipes. My search led me to my local grocery store. Did you know they sell fruits and vegetables there? They have a whole section of them that I usually breeze past to get to the coffee or potato chip aisles. I’ve really learned a lot these past few days.

One recipe for Italian Sausage Soup required zucchini. Usually, any form of vegetable being included as an ingredient would’ve made me vote the whole recipe off the island. However, now that I have discounted cookware, I was sure I could somehow make the vegetable unhealthy enough to be edible. I had plans to lather the zucchini down in lard and Crisco whether the recipe required it or not. Where there’s a will, there’s a way.

I searched everywhere for zucchini, but I couldn’t find it. I found things that resembled zucchini, but I later learned they weren’t zucchini at all. They were carrots. I was wrong. Whoops. I summoned for Siri, but she was no help. She said something about being in quarantine and told me not to bother her for the next 14 days.

Although the person I’ve been told is my dad raised me to never ask for help, I deemed it ok in this one instance. I mean, it was a matter of life and zucchini. I figured he’d allow it. Besides, he never has to know that I broke one of his 10 commandments. There are at least three others that I’ve never broken, so there was a little wiggle room with this particular one.

I asked the produce guy for help, and he pointed me to something that was clearly marked squash. Unbelievable! That’s the problem with customer service these days. It’s like they don’t even listen. I rolled my eyes at him and jumped on the Googler to do my own research. I shouldn’t have been asking the produce guy for help anyway. The person I was told is my dad would’ve been very disappointed.

Once I took matters into my own hands, I was even more alarmed. Did you know that zucchini actually is squash?!?! Wow! Sadly, I learned this after telling the produce guy that he didn’t know what he was talking about. Perhaps I shouldn’t have tried to get him fired, though. That may have been a bit overboard. It’s not my fault. He could have corrected me in a nicer tone.

That noted, when things get back to semi-normal, I’m going to invite some people over just so I can use my new cookware set. I’ve already started thinking about the menu. I know what I’m going to serve: peas and Kool-Aid. For safety, I’ll be sure to temperature check everyone at the door and give them vaccinations before letting them come inside. None of that may be necessary, though. If I’ve ever cooked for them before, they already have a stomach full of Teflon. They should be just fine.

Michael Rochelle
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