kitchen tales

So, I may not be the best person to consult with matters of the heart kitchen but that still doesn't stop some people from asking me how to cook. You'd think that they know better after reading on my culinary misadventure but guess not. Of course, it would help if I actually let them read them but where's the fun in that?

For the past few weeks or so, I've been asked a number of questions that made me feel quite a pro at cooking.

can I grate ice at home using those handheld grater?
sure if you don't mind an aching arm

what about cooking soup using a rice cooker?
can if you want to starve me to death

where do they sell the block to store the kitchen knife?
(by then, I surrender to the fact that there is no innate question and just succumb to my sad fate of answering them as best possible in a serious manner though I am just dying on the inside).

By nature, goodness is not inherent in me. By nurture, it is albeit reluctantly.

There is nothing for a kitchen-goddess-wannabe to just smile and pretend wtf is going on.