I think one of the few ‘typically male’ pieces of my personality is my unwillingness to read the instructions. To anything. If everything is in the box that should be there, I should be able to assemble it/program it/hook it up without reading a  freaking manual. Hell, I’ve assembled/programmed/hooked up…other things, how hard can it be?

I’m sure it’s related to that primal, genetic hard-wiring that prevents a lot of my gender from asking directions when we’re lost (“Og no need map—Og remember turn when get to cave behind mountain of fire. Seriously, Og know this. Og be there before.”)

I have a hunch that if I used GPS, I would just argue with the recorded voice, or get all passive aggressive—“Fine. I’ll turn left, ahead 350 feet, at Oak Street. You’re probably right. What do I know, I’m just a…human being, not some magical dashboard sorcery device. But just know, robot lady, that when I turn, I will do it very slowly.”

I’m the same way with microwave dinner instructions (and why do the instructions never include “Throw out green beans, because green beans in microwave dinners always suck.”?). The reality is, in my more bohemian days, I probably went two or three years without eating anything that wasn’t irradiated, so I’m willing to take some chances.

The box may ‘suggest’ that, after four and a half minutes with the plastic covering ‘vented’, I remove the cover, stir the meal and then cook on medium for another minute and a half, but how ‘bout I just nuke the whole thing with the covering off (I’m crazy, I tell ya!) for a total of 6 minutes , because I’m hungry, and the entire meal cost two bucks?

Given my aversion to instructions, it’s probably no surprise that I don’t usually cook from a recipe. The recipes I use, I get from an internet search, but I usually just treat them as a rough outline of what I’m gonna prepare (note: do not use this approach with baking. Trust me.) I just figure, if something gets screwed up, then I’ll look at the recipe.

Besides, I substitute pretty liberally when I see a list of ingredients. The only time this is a bad idea is if you don’t know what a listed ingredient is  (I suppose I could use cinnamon instead of turmeric…)

I’ve always had a problem with ‘no substitutions’ at restaurants, too. Now, I get that, at a steak joint, I can’t substitute  braised walleye for the top sirloin, but if you have what I’m asking for in the kitchen, and you cook said item on the other days of the week, you can make me a fish sandwich even if it’s not the special for today!

The Girlfriend and I went to a casino a while back, and the ‘vegetable of the day’ in the restaurant was green beans. I’m sure all the veggies there were canned, but the day before, it was carrots, and I wanted carrots. “Can’t do that.”

So you’re telling me that, overnight, you guys threw out whatever carrots you didn’t sell? Or is the guy who knows how to heat up the carrots only available on Monday? I think what I lost at video poker oughtta get me a few carrots, don’t ya think? Open a can of carrots, you bastards! Yeah, we’ve been asked to not come back.

So I’m all for substitutions in recipes. The earliest recipes were very simple, of course. There were probably cave drawings that showed a mastadon, a knife, and some fire, and that meant fine dining to our ancestors.

But the first published recipe book seems to be the Latin collection called “De re coquinaria,” and attributed to Apicius, known to scholars as ‘the Guy Fieri of ancient Rome.” Now me, I figured a Roman cookbook would just consist of the instructions “Take food from people you’ve conquered. Reheat.” But there are some detailed recipes, for example this lamb stew:

Put the pieces of meat into a pan. Finely chop an onion and coriander, pound pepper, lovage (leafy, green, tastes like celery), cumin, liquamen (a thick fish sauce, tastes…like fish sauce), oil, and wine. Cook, turn out into a shallow pan, thicken with cornflour. You should add the contents of the mortar while the meat is still raw.

You have to be careful with recipes you find online, because it’s not like there’s a National Internet Recipe Oversight Commission. And sometimes I find a recipe online that is simply too intimidating. I was looking for a quick way to cook chicken thighs, and I hit on this recipe from someone named Joy Beeson, who, though I’m sure she’s a lovely woman, is a little demanding in the kitchen:

 At least three hours before serving time, empty the oven and set it for 350. If you’ve already got something in the oven, why not just serve that?

Put half of a Knorr chicken-flavor boullion cube into a #5 iron skillet. (8″/20cm dia.) Have ready another #5 skillet or an oven-proof lid. Yeah, I have dozens of ‘#5 skillets.’  Always keep an extra handy. And does the brand of bouillion cube really matter?

Add a generous crank of black pepper. Sure, you know the model number of the skillet but can’t be more specific than a ‘crank’ of pepper?

• _{You can’t use too many endangered species in your recipes, so my Chilean Sea Bass stuffed with Snail Darter was a problem}

• _{People didn’t seem to appreciate how precise I tried to be (“place casserole in 22.6 cubic-foot oven at 213 degrees Celsius for 47 minutes, 18 seconds”).}

• _{While I thought it would be fun to have a section where the recipes all had blanks where temperatures and timings would normally be (“Bake for _____ minutes at ____ degrees. Now–can you solve the recipe?”), I guess there was some fear of possible litigation down the line.}