MY GENETIC HISTORY of CRAPPY COOKING
My mom was a terrible cook. And I’m pretty sure I’m missing the cooking gene. I know for a fact that I’m missing the cleaning-up-after-cooking gene, and I think those usually come as a genetic pair.
I was cooking chicken last night. I set the oven temp to 395 degrees.
WHY 395 degrees?? Why not 400 degrees? What’s with that? Who did that? Who told us to do that? Why would they tell us to cook at 395 and not at 400? What’s the difference?
Why am I doing it just because someone told me to do it? Am I not an independent thinker? Do I not have a brain of my own? If I did, surely I’d set the temperature to an even 400 degrees. I just don’t see the point of going all the way to 395 and not going the extra 5.
Makes no sense. And yet, I do it. And I’ll continue to do it. I fear that, if I go the full 400, my chicken will turn out to be a scorched, dried-out mess. Oh wait, it usually is anyway.
So, what the hell is it with those extra 5 degrees?