“Fear does strange things to a man.” This was attributed by my older brothers to a high school football coach. I don’t know if he actually coined the phrase, but I always liked it.
When I first started riding motorcycles, this phrase would lurk to the forefront of my mind whenever I would get ready to go for a ride. I was apprehensive. This would increase when I stepped into the garage and there sat my bike, a beautiful, but powerful and unforgiving beast. One wrong move and I could be a statistic. Actually, my biggest fear was not of getting splattered on the pavement, one good eye barely managing to focus on the wheels of passing cars, slowly turning as the drivers take in the carnage, it was of something much more innate to the male psyche: The fear of being embarrassed, bruising my pride, being de-cocked. I didn’t worry about blood and guts, besides, if I survived, I’d probably have some cool scars. No, I worried about pulling up to an intersection, where some hottie is taking in my masculine self, then popping the clutch. Men reading this know what I’m talking about. We’d rather suffer horrific bodily damage than be embarrassed, especially in front of an attractive woman. But, the more I rode, the more confident I became and my apprehension faded. It only resurfaces now if I’m sitting at an intersection and see there actually is a hottie, looking over with a smile. It happens. Has to be the bike because I have a face that suggests I live under a bridge, only emerging when someone says my name three times. But this isn’t about the power of a nice bike, so let’s get back to fear.
There’s a fear, a threat to our masculinity, that is so insidious, so heinous, that it prevents many men from living a full and enjoyable life. It strikes three times every day. Many men are afraid that if they take more than a passing interest in cooking, they are somehow lesser men. They’re afraid that if they know how to cook, they’ll be perceived as gay, or metrosexual, or that, gulp, they care about something other than sports, or cars, or chasing tail. Eating crap is manly. Many would rather eat roadkill than try to cook. “Mmm, the tail’s the best part! Crunchy.” For some reason, grilling is the exception. Must have something to do with conquering fire. To all this I say, in a word, bullshit.
C’mon, guys, you know you like to eat. More than that, you know you like to stuff your face with good grub until your clothes no longer fit and the thought of prying your butt off the couch is akin to the thought of building a house. So, unless you happen to be lucky enough to have a wife who can cook, what are you going to do, let your fear force you to eat garbage? It is so easy to cook. Check out my videos on Youtube on Cookinsex’s channel and you’ll see. If it will make you feel better, you can say you learned to cook in prison, while you were in the French Foreign Legion, or the CIA trained you, but you can’t talk about it.
As with anything new, there’s also the fear of failure. I don’t care if someone is an award-winning chef, or your mother, they’ve ruined a meal or two in their time. Big deal. Trial and error is not only the best way to learn something, it is also where some of the best recipes come from. That Chili del Diablo — manly name — will probably become your masterpiece only after a few attempts that were dubbed, Chili That’s Sort of Hot But Not Really, or Pussy Chili. But the only way you’ll get there is by trying.
I saved the best for last: Women love it when a man can cook. Ask them. If she says no, she has a reason for saying so. Read my blog, Take It or Leave It, for more about this. That hottie in the office? Take some leftovers in for lunch. After that great aroma wafts through the office, she’ll stop by. Hottie: “That smells great!” You: “Oh, just something I threw together.” Hottie: “Wow, you can cook? I better get back to my desk because all I can think about is having hot, sweaty sex with you.” OK, maybe she won’t say that, but you have an ‘in.’ Then, after you’ve had a few dates and you want to seal the deal, cook for her. I promise, her clothes will come off faster than a hooker during Fleet Week.
If you don’t want eat well and nail more hot women than James Bond, so be it. Fear does indeed do strange things to a man.
The preceding rant was provided by Dave Carr.
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