How I Learned to Cook

There are certain combinations of words that are deeply disturbing. Some are obvious, such as government employee and human resources specialist and diversity trainer.

Some are more subtle, such as insurance advisor and relationship counselor.

A select few are downright terrifying. For the cognoscenti perhaps the most dread-inspiring of all is the simple combination of two otherwise harmless words that when joined together deliver the deadly outcome of:

Scottish cook.

The Scots are known for many things: wearing blankets around their legs instead of trousers, being fierce warriors, and torturing the ear with the world’s most annoying musical instrument. But most of all these days the Scots are known for one awful irredeemable defect: they are by far and away the world’s absolute worst-ever cooks. Never, ever, let a Scots person perform any form of food preparation because if you do you’ll regret it for the rest of your now-foreshortened life.

The Scots deep-fry everything, even chocolate bars. While someone from the US Deep South could find Scots food appealing, everyone else on the planet recognizes it for what it truly is: a culinary abomination with lethal health consequences.

My mother was a well-intentioned woman. But she was a Scot.