I don't know how to make mashed potatoes

The other night our family celebrated my parent's wedding anniversary. My sister and I decided to cook dinner as a gift, we decided to make steak because we all eat too many grilled chicken breasts. Too many. I got into the kitchen and realized that I had not a single clue how to cook! Sure, I know how to bake and can whip up a mean oatmeal dish, but an actual well balanced meal seemed very elusive to me. Suddenly the kitchen seemed foreign, clumsily I searched for olive oil, herbs, spice rubs and anything else that I could possibly use. I even had to read the labels whereas my baking prowess ensures that the simple shape of a bottle was enough to discern between vanilla extract and almond extract. My sister offered to make mashed potatoes, to which I incredulously replied "You know how to make mashed potatoes?". I had not a clue. I was captain helpless asea on an already anchored ship, yet competing in a sailing race. I was left with cooking the steak. The gross looking slabs of red meat, which I picked up precociously with a delicate pinch of my index finger and thumb. I hesitated with every movement: Where do I cut the steak? What exactly is a marinade? Oil goes into a marinade right? Somehow, with guidance from the little sister, the steaks began their oil and herb laden bath.

Step two in my panicked dinner was actually cooking the steak. On a grill. All I could envision was the sprightly flames licking my shirt setting my frame afire. Don't laugh, that could have happened. It didn't though. With tongs that resembled robotic evil crustaceans, I began poking the meat in hopes that it would somehow communicate flip me over blonde girl with the confused face. That did not happen. By some miracle I managed to flip over each steak revealing a cooked bottom. This is pretty cool I thought to myself, look at me I am a master, a grillmaster. But oh geez, how in the world do you know when they are done? I decided to poke them yet again and came to the conclusion that yes, they were in fact inanimate beef hunks. Whispering a prayer that the steaks would be alright, I pried them off of the grill slats and onto a plate. Dauntingly I made my way into the house to face judgment. With my sister's amazing mashed potatoes (how does she know these things that I should know as a twenty year old?) and my miracle steaks the dinner was a hit.

In my realization of my lack of cooking skills I have turned to the expert source of cooking, Julia Child. Being a master library patron, I found her infamous "Mastering the Art of French Cooking" in my local library, a book that I delightfully checked out. I could practically feel the palpitation of culinary knowledge through the massively bound book. Anxiously, I drove home with the prized book resisting every temptation to flip through the magic laden pages at red lights. Once home I whipped out the book onto the kitchen table. The book landed with a hollow thud on the table, the spine cracked as I slowly opened the cover revealing a table of content that was about as long as my arm. The first two chapters were on soups and flavored butters! Seems like I have much catching up to do. Now I may not know how to de-bone a duck or correctly prepare foie gras, at least I can learn a classic recipe that my family will enjoy. The adventure starts now.