A warm congratulation to Hannah Hart of "My Drunk Kitchen" for her very sudden online success in the pseudo-culinary, adultolescent queermosphere. Have you seen it?
What a beautiful hot mess.
Admittedly, I have been doing a lot more of watching this bitch than actually cooking lately.
Why? Because she's me! This girl is me. She does what I do. It's uncanny, and I can't look away.
Here's what Harto has figured out through her webseries, "My Drunk Kitchen":
1. You need to eat, but cooking is hard.
2. Alcohol is the perfect tonic when you're faced with hard things.
Yes, getting drunk invariably turns insurmountable tasks into piddlingly easy tasks.
When the reasoning mind takes a little nap, your body will eventually take care of everything in the most efficient, pragmatic way possible. It's like your subconscious wakes up and says,
Trying to make an omelette? Wow, really shooting for the moon, aren't you? Wait, weren't you hungry? Simple solution: Mexican leftovers. BAM.
Once again, this girl is me.
The act of Feeding Yo Self as an inexperienced, too-educated-for-your-own-good, twenty-something bum is exactly they hurdle that "Feed Yo Self", "My Drunk Kitchen", and all of us really, are just trying to overcome.
It's not easy to cook. So much protocol, but even more unnecessary freedoms. Sometimes, the kick in the ass that you need to balls-out put an egg on the stove can come in the form of a heart-warming cocktail: a creative itch in your psyche, a little well-placed pretension, and some sloppy humor, all paired with a $4.99 bottle of Gallo Family wine.
As I sit here, egging myself on to write in this blog (literally, whisking an egg like mad 'til I egg myself), I can't help wonder:
Is Harto really my alter biebgo? (that's "alter ego" + Bieber. As confirmed by my sister, everyone must have one.)
, after lofty cooking pursuits are abandoned for two styrafoam tubs and a microwave,
"It's a good idea...
Isn't that really all that this blog is saying?
I mean, let's take a step back and look at
She's like... a wildly successful version of me.See, I try to be legitimate and fail: taking countless photos of a grilled cheese sandwich like I was competing with Bobby Flay, vainly choosing not to post about that one time I made a steak that was too salty... (I mean way too salty. See, I forgot I had salted it the first time. And then forgot about forgetting and salted it again. It was like a salt lick made of flesh. Gross.) Vain, vain, vain, vain.
The interesting thing you notice about MDK is that she never actually makes anything. Hilarious videos, yes. But see, she never comes out with a real, edible result of what she sets out to cook. Just gets drunker and drunker. Which ensues in hilarity, and so by all means.
I'm always doing that shit, though.
I heat up leftovers, and then, staring into the depths of that pot of rice, realize that all I want is for someone else to cook me up a medium-rare steak topped with lump crab meat and Bearnaise sauce. Goodbye, home-cooked meal/savings. Nice knowing ya.
I throw out an old plastic bag and think I'm the greatest homemaker ever, and then Katie comes home to see nasty dishes everywhere, smirking, "Oh, I see you cleaned the kitchen."I get so self-satisfied with the thought that I'm the only one getting enjoyment out of this watermelon that I lovingly sliced, and then a fruit fly goes up my nose.
I guess what I'm saying is that the main difference between me and Hannah Hart is that I would never choose to have that haircut.
The second thing is that she is--I'm just going to say it--probably not as well nourished as I am.
Which is a resounding success for the mission of Feed Yo Self and its constituents.
Even if my excessive watching of the Food Network impulses me to go out and buy $30 worth of chervil.
Hats off to Hannah Hart, but cheers and a swig for still none of us really knowing what we're doing, but f'ing doing it anyway.
Let's make muffins.