
The truth came out. I decided to make pancakes on Saturday, in keeping with an old family tradition, for the first time on my own. After a long hour of gathering all ingredients, meticulous, measuring, careful mixing, and intense cooking, I arrived at the table with a plate of pancakes, a small pitcher of syrup, a cup of tang (in place of orange juice), and French-press coffee. When I tested the syrup, however, I found to my surprise, that I had concocted an excellent mixture of highly concentrated salt water. Alas.
Other attempts to provide sustenance for myself have met with success, such as baking bread on a stovetop, which I thought was tricky, and Tuna Alfredo a la Macaroni, dined to Mozart, of course, which I thought was classy. I have not yet resorted to hunting, but with the roosters continuing to crow at 3:30am, we’ll see how long that lasts.
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