Editor update: My editor hasn't stuck anything up his butt for a week, so hopefully he will get out of rehab next month.
Ladies love a man who can cook. No fucking secret there. No matter what they say, chicks like to eat. And fuck those "I'll-just-have-salad" bitches anyway. Salad chicks—not vegetarians—probably have stinky vaginas.
Where was I? Oh yeah, cooking. The problem with cooking a great meal is that it takes time, time that you may not have. Maybe you're watching the game or going to happy hour. Maybe you're sitting on your patio smoking cigarettes wondering what the fuck happened to your life, counting the days until you DON'T retire because you can't afford to because your crippling student loan debt doesn't leave you enough money to invest (the ROI on that degree was terrible because you're an editor and not a doctor, lawyer, or baller business dude) and you're probably going to get cancer anyway so fuck it.
You need a way to impress your lady friend without spending a fuck-ton of time in the kitchen. Good news, buddies, the GMan's got you!
Step one: Go to the store.
Step two: Make a mess in your kitchen.
This may be the most important part of impressing your lady friend. A meal surrounded by a mess means you worked hard. (A mess on its own means you're a fucking slob and should probably clean your kitchen. And also, she might equate the cleanliness of your kitchen to the cleanliness of your butthole, so that's something else to consider.)
Cut up the tomatoes and throw 90 percent of that shit in the trash. Leave some seeds, juice, and bits of skin lying around on the counter. Repeat with the onion and garlic. Throw some of your new herbs and spices on the counter and leave the jars out.
Pull out your stand mixer with the pasta attachment. (Borrow this from your mom if you have to. Kitchenaid mixers make all the panties drop. Except your mom. That's gross.) Crack some eggs into the sink leave the shells where your girl can see them. Throw some flour around. Spill a little milk. Make a paste and put some in the mixing bowl.
Step three: Cook the actual food.
Pour your store-bought sauce in a pan and heat it up on low. Follow the instructions on the box of pasta and cook that shit. Mix some of the garlic you threw in the trash with some butter and let soften. Right before you eat, put that on the fancy bread and heat it on a grill pan. The grill marks make everyone horny as fuck.
Step four: Your lady friend shows up for dinner.
Your lady friend walks in and sees your fucked up kitchen and the food on the stove. She assumes you made that sauce from scratch. SPLOOSH! "Wow! I can't believe you went to all this trouble. It smells great. WE ARE LITERALLY GOING TO POUND TOWN AFTER THIS!" (I'm not sure where Pound Town is actually located, but she will most likely say "literally" because people don't seem to know what the fuck that means anymore.)
Then you pull out the salad bag and apologize. "Sorry I didn't have time to make my legendary Caesar dressing. I had some deliverables to deliver to the CEO of Google by EOB today." This adds a bit of reality that will make all the other bullshit believable.
Finally, you plate the food and eat. Wait thirty minutes to an hour after eating before hitting the road to Pound Town. Done. Boom!
Or you could just look up a recipe on the internet and actually cook all of that shit yourself. It will probably take you the same amount of time. Except the pasta. Fuck making pasta from scratch. It's weird.
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