Date: Whenever Humanity Forgot How to Fry an Egg

I would like to know when not having basic cooking or meal-preparation skills became the norm. I’m not talking about osso buco or duck confit. I mean the bare minimum of human survival: making a sandwich, frying an egg, boiling potatoes. How about chopping an onion without summoning a crisis hotline? When did this become advanced alchemy?

I’m truly perplexed by people shrieking that eating healthy is expensive. I’m sorry — I wasn’t aware that lettuce was spun from gold by Rumplestiltskin or that chicken was mined from forbidden farms on another astral plane. You mean to tell me a sack of beans costs more than your ritual latte from the corner coffee shop? Come on now! Everyone is complaining about the cost of their warm beverages. The true cost isn’t money; it’s willpower. And that, apparently, is rarer than truffles.

Let me reiterate: give someone a head of cabbage and they stare at it as though it were a tax form written in ancient Aramaic. You know exactly what to do with a DoorDash promo code, but a bag of rice? Suddenly all of youse go blind.

And oh, the excuses. I can hear their decadent little cries through the screen: “Pots are expensive. Knives are expensive. Oil is expensive.” As if cookware were relics guarded by priests in cathedrals. These are the same souls who tithe to streaming services, pour offerings into vape smoke, and toast at bottomless brunches. But a skillet? Too extravagant for their altar.

No, healthy food isn’t expensive. Effort is. Effort is a currency few are willing to spend. Cooking requires patience, sharp steel, and the courage to touch raw vegetables as if handling the organs of mortality itself. And so the excuses pile up, while the grave collects faster than any creditor.

We live in an age where adults can assemble complicated IKEA furniture, diagnose strangers on TikTok, perform relationship autopsies in comment sections, and orchestrate seventy-step skincare routines… yet ask them to sauté an onion, and they behave like you’ve requested a blood ritual.

Most people have never been taught what to do with real food. Trust me, I didn’t grow up in a household of gourmet sorcery — my mother wasn’t exactly summoning Michelin stars, and I’m mostly self-taught. But even then, there were fragments of basic kitchen instinct floating around. Now? That instinct has gone extinct. The simplest ingredients — rice, beans, vegetables — might as well be relics from a forgotten civilization, because people stare at them like they require archaeological tools to decipher.

Prepared food feels easier, so they declare raw ingredients “too expensive,” masking the truth with consumer-friendly excuses. It’s easier to blame the price of tomatoes than admit, “I don’t know how to cook without step-by-step instructions and a microwave whispering encouragement.”

Cooking requires skill, yes, but more importantly — humility. The humility to fail. To burn something. To salt it wrong. To try again. People don’t want to acquire a new skill; they want convenience mimicking expertise. They want nutrition delivered, not earned.

Healthy food isn’t costly — ignorance is. Produce prices haven’t skyrocketed beyond reach; the willingness to learn has plummeted. A pound of lentils is a few dollars. The real cost is curiosity, patience, practice — the unsexy virtues no one can Postmates.

Healthy eating collapses not under inflation but under inexperience. The vegetable aisle becomes a crypt, not because the food is unaffordable, but because no one knows how to resurrect it into a meal. It’s a lack of know-how, not funds — a deficit of skill, not currency. And so the myth persists, repeated like a poorly reconciled account: “healthy food is expensive.” Nevertheless, the ledger reveals what the excuses try to hide.