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My mom doesn’t really cook. I’m not saying that she can’t cook, just that she doesn’t. She’s a big fan of take-out. Which is funny, because she went through this cooking phase. Except it wasn’t really a cooking phase, but more of a buying kitchen stuff phase. She got a deep fryer, a bunch of chopping blocks and cutting boards, fancy knives, this cool vegetable peeler that makes peeling potatoes approximately 100% easier, and a whole bunch of other crap that I just don’t remember. This phase was a few years ago now. I inherited a bunch of the stuff when she finally admitted that she was never going to use any of it.

When I was a kid, she cooked more often. One of the things she made the most was chicken fajitas. I loved those fajitas, and when I started cooking for myself, they were what I made pretty much all the time. I hated raw meat back then. It was so gross to me; I couldn’t touch it. I remember one time, I think I was sixteen, I was house- and dog-sitting for her while she was having surgery. I had to make dinner for myself. I was still fairly new to that back then (I don’t know if that was a bit old to just start cooking for myself?), and was actually using precooked chicken breast strips I had gotten from the grocery store. It worked out well enough if I remember correctly. I used that precooked chicken for quite a while before my avó finally chastised me and gave me a raw chicken breast. I did not like touching it. So slimy and gross. But I got over it.

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