What's Cooking?

Bret Blackmon grabbed the remote and sat down in his favorite chair, an overstuffed Laz-E-Boy Recliner. The Chair. The material was worn at all the touch points, just short of threadbare and, truth be told, the thing stank a little. But he still loved it and refused to give it up. His friends and family suspected he kept it because it smelled bad – no one ever wanted to sit in it when they came to call!

He plopped into the Chair, a cold Pepsi and bag of Taco Bell treats on the side table. This was his idea of a great supper and he had it twice week. The second night was always a Saturday. No exceptions. Even if he had friends over, Taco Bell for supper, take it or leave it. They always took it. He was sure his visitors accepted Saturday invites so they could indulge but blame him for their poor choice. 

Ah, Taco Bell! 

He sipped his icy soda and rifled through the channels, looking to for something fun, funny, entertaining or interesting to watch. Occasionally he hit the jackpot and found a show that offered all of these. Usually he settled for sci-fi or horror movies. More indulgent faves, they had to really suck before he would give up and search for something else. 

“You can make great tacos, burritos, pasta, casseroles. You name it, Chuck Roester’s Cooks Recipe will make it easily and it will always come out great. I guarantee it, that’s why my name is on the box!”

Great tacos? Bret stopped channel surfing. He picked through his memory. No, he had never heard of Chuck Roester. Never heard of the Cooks Recipe machine. He was pretty sure he had never even watched an infomercial before. But great tacos? He had to hear more. 

Munching his supper, sipping Pepsi and watching Chuck Roester lasted twenty-two minutes, having missed the first eight. Well, munching tacos lasted nine. But still. He only had three, along with some refried beans and Cinnamon Twists for dessert. But he locked in on his new best friend and his magic kitchen machine to the end of the broadcast. 

To buy or not to buy? That IS the question. Because Bret Blackmon seldom cooked, it seemed an easy question. Frozen pizza, pot pies, TV dinners (though they aren’t called that anymore). That was how he cooked. And even this was a challenge for him. After all, the directions were optional. About the only thing he made well was a bowl of cereal soaked in milk and a sprinkle or ten of sugar. Because, you need the carbs. And the milk was only tolerable if properly sweetened. 

He didn’t buy any Cooks Recipes. Wise choice? He was just too uncertain. At $59.95 plus shipping and tax, he needed to think about it. Then again, buy two, get two free, AND SHIPPING IS INCLUDED!!!!!! The damn things might make a great gift. And 120 bucks for four of them? He was thinking hard. It made his head hurt. Because Bret was not much of a thinker. But he was even less of a shopper. Why was this so difficult? 

Sunday morning rolled around and he’d managed to sleep on the Cooks Recipe offer, though visions of Chuck danced in his head all night long. Roester was such a nice guy and very engaging on the tube. Blackmon thought in “real life” they’d make great friends. Share a beer or soda over tacos, burritos, pasta or casseroles. Made right in his own kitchen!

He wondered if Chuck Roester would sit in his Laz-E-Boy. He was pretty sure that he’d be okay with it. That’s how you treat your friends. Especially over tacos and Pepsi. 

Bacon and eggs sounded great this morning, so Blackmon poured a bowl of Corn Chex and drenched them in milk (whole, cuz we ain’t drinking any of that watered down crap!). Throwing caution to the wind, he ignored the sugar bowl and instead squeezed a huge of dollop of honey into the cereal. 

“Look at me, making up my own recipe for breakfast,” he said to no one. Cooking bacon and eggs was simply beyond his level of expertise. And interest. Isn’t that why God invented Denny’s? 

He headed for the Chair, cereal in hand. He grabbed the remote and brought the TV to life. Time to tune in ESPN and get some scores, watch some football preview stuff. Sunday equals game day. 

Wait!

The TV glowed, still tuned into the infomercial channel. And just starting, his pal Chuck Roester, hawking the Cooks Recipe! He could see the whole enchilada this morning. Surely the first seven or eight minutes would provide him with the missing detail he needed to decide – buy or not? 

Thirty minutes of the Cooks Recipe proved entertaining and enlightening. Blackmon was rapt, so caught up that he took fourteen minutes to polish off his cereal. The food coming out of the infomercial kitchen looked wonderful! He didn’t recall doing it, but he wrote down the 800 phone number four times over the thirty minutes. 

Call NOW. Take advantage of this great deal! Buy two, we’ll send you four, share them with your friends and family, makes a GREAT Christmas gift! And starting today, we’ll include at no extra charge, the 74 page Cooks Recipe cookbook. Chock full of fast and easy recipes, even your kids can make! And if that’s not enough, our exclusive nine piece utensil set, designed to make using your Cooks Recipe even easier! Call 800-867-5309 NOW! 

Even easier? A child can do it? Bret wondered if that were true. He had a neighbor kid. Maybe he could invite him over and let him cook. Can six-year-olds cook? He was willing to find out!

And still he hesitated. Cooking seemed hard. It was intimidating. It required directions. It called for things like a teaspoon, ¾ a stick of butter, a cup of milk or water. He had a lot of cups and no two of them were the same size! How do you choose? Maybe the utensil set could answer these questions.

And what the hell is basil?

His head hurt again, and he switched over to ESPN. Maybe some football updates would give him some respite. He started feeling better, but at twelve minutes into the show a commercial break thrust Chuck effing Roester in his face! Selling, YES! The Cooks Recipe! Thank God, the ad lasted only 75 seconds. Barely enough time to eat a taco, if you had one nearby. 

Was this a sign from God? Was it time to pull the trigger and buy four of these magical, all-purpose cooking beauties? He reached for his phone. And stopped, setting it back down. A hundred and twenty bucks. Lord, that’s a lot of money. A guy can stew on this one more day then decide. 

Mondays always sucked at Blackmon’s job. People who needed assistance with the furnace or AC but not badly enough to approve OT on Saturday or Sunday. And they were always shocked to find out they weren’t going to get service first thing on Monday. Before 5:00 that afternoon, yeah, probably. But not this morning. 

He sped from furnace to furnace, getting heat restored to people struggling in the cold. One guy was just a major A-Hole, bitching because his fireplace could only keep the house at 67 degrees. BRRRRR! One elderly woman nearly made him weep. She had next to nothing, had been widowed for three years. Her house was down to 55. He was elated to diagnose her issue as a simple plugged filter. Even though he knew he’d get his butt chewed, he charged her for just a service call. He’d pay for the damn filter himself if anyone bitched. Four bucks. BFD. 

At 12:10 he pulled into a Burger King and went inside. Whenever he could, he ate with his best friend, Billy Nelson. Today it worked out. A Whopper was in his very near future.  

“Hey Bill, let me ask you something,” he said through a mouthful of sandwich. 

“K.”

“Do you cook much?”

“Yep. I love to cook. I cook three, four times a week. I always make enough for leftovers. If it’s something really good, I make enough for maybe three meals. Like tacos. I make a huge pile of tacos when I cook.”

“Yeah? Is it hard? Cooking, I mean.”

“Nah. I have this gizmo, a multi cooker thing. It came with a recipe book and they’re easy to follow.” 

“It wouldn’t be a Cooks Recipe would it?”

“Yeah, that’s it. I love that stupid thing! Gave one to my mom and she uses hers nearly every day.”

Blackmon slowed his pace, chewing slowly, stewing on this. He was running out of reasons to not buy. Billy’s comments were picking away at the last lock stopping him. To buy or not to buy. Maybe, before making a regrettable phone call, he could take a look online and see what he could see. He gulped the last of his root beer and headed back to work. 

Home late, because Monday’s were busy, he finally sat down in front of the tube at 6:48. Dammit! Wheel of Fortune was mostly done! And his frozen lasagna was still 25 minutes away. At least that gave him a chance to research Chuck Roester and his Cooks Recipe. 

He piddled around with his laptop, checking his email, glancing at Facebook. Facebook, what a colossal waste of time. He wished he didn’t love spending time there. The dogs and cat hi-jinks, man you can’t get enough!

He finally googled Cooks Recipe. Within .0003 seconds he was told he had 11.5 billion hits. 

“I probably won’t look at all of them,” he mumbled to himself. 

He started with Chuck’s home page. What a busy guy! Roester had at least fifteen different things for sale, all of them perfect for gift giving, with amazing options if you bought two or more. Clicking on any item launched a ten minute condensed infomercial. When did this guy eat and sleep? All these contraptions and infomercials? How is this even possible? 

He watched one, for a fabulous mattress that could be shipped in a tube direct to his front door. It was like sampling crack and he was quickly becoming an addict. Did he need a new mattress? He was slowly starting think he did. And for only $299.99! 

“Shut it off, shut it off, shut it off!” he chastised himself. He canceled the mattress video and clicked on the Cooks Recipe. Not the video, just the info, which, of course, was actually a buy now page. One or two easy clicks. He read and reread the item description. As he waffled, the oven timer dinged.

He ignored the laptop while he ate, watching an episode of Law and Order - STD on cable. They need to just make a Law and Order channel, he was convinced. It was on all day, every day anyway. Please make it easier to find. 

The lasagna was gone, and STD came to an end. He cleaned up the kitchen (threw away his oven safe lasagna cooking tray and plastic fork) and headed back to the Chair. The screen on his laptop was dark. He tried to ignore it as he surfed for something else to watch, finally settling on Monday Night Football. 

He grabbed the laptop, clicking on the touch pad. It glowed anew, a smiling Chuck Roester on the side of the Cooks Recipe box. 

“What the hell,” he said. Click, buy, quantity two, and two free along with all the fantastic bonuses! Upgrade to three day shipping? Only $14.99. Hell yes.

He returned to the website every morning before work, for the next three days. Gotta track those packages. Who knew buying a Cooks Recipe could be so exciting? Besides Chuck Roester, who clearly understood this. Not Bret Blackmon.

Thursday night he arrived home from work at 5:33, a pretty good time. The day had been light. He raced to his front door and was elated to see four boxes on his front step. Cooks Recipe machines, three days shipping just as promised. It had been so easy! And now he could start cooking. Tacos tonight! Homemade, not that store bought crap. 

He popped open a box and removed his new machine. So shiny and alluring, he set it on the counter and grabbed the instructions.

“Wash and dry thoroughly before use. Unit cannot be placed near anything flammable. Not dishwasher safe. Read directions completely before use.”

What? It was going to take him thirty minutes just to prep the damn thing. He turned on his oven to 400 degrees and pulled a pizza out of his freezer. Tacos tomorrow night! No biggie.

He read the directions as he ate his Tombstone. Not great pizza, but cheap. An okay trade off. He then grabbed the cookbook – Roester’s Recipes, quick and easy, always come out perfect. He thumbed the pages until he found tacos.

“Scramble one pound ground beef – 85% works best.”

WHAT THE HELL IS THIS?!?! Eggs are scrambled, not hamburger! Mother fu…. 

“Calm down Bret, take a breath! Read the whole thing before you go too nuts.” He read the ingredients list.

Canned Mexican style tomatoes. Taco seasoning. Salt to taste.

Salt to taste? Who needs to taste salt? What does that even mean? He went to his kitchen and opened a cupboard door. One half used jar of peanut butter, a bag of sugar (at last three bowls of cereal worth) and some Nesquik for chocolate milk. 

No canned tomatoes, because why on earth would you buy them? No taco seasoning. But there was some salt. 

He didn’t even bother to look for ground beef. He had none, not even if you called it hamburger like a real American. The best match he had a was a four meat frozen pizza, that had hamburger as one of the four.

He stared at the Cooks Recipe on his counter for a moment then walked away, disgusted. Who were the geniuses that knew enough about cooking to use these things? Billy Nelson and his mom. Two. Two people in the entire world. Well maybe more, but none he could confirm.

He sat in the Chair, peeved at how much work the stupid thing was going to be, just to make tacos. No way. Box it up and give away all four. Christmas shopping was done.

What the hell is scramble ground beef? An illusion, that’s what. He laughed at the folly and reached for the remote. 

What’s on tonight? He started to thumb through the channels when he heard a voice – “The best cleaning agent you can have in your house, safe and effective. Use in every room, it will leave your house smelling as clean as it looks.”

Really? He set the remote down and grabbed a pencil and paper. Tell me more, like a phone number or website. Can I clean the Chair with this stuff? 

“You can even mix it up and clean upholstery and carpets! Just follow the simple directions...”