Easy like Sunday morning

Man, I'm way domesticated. Or something. I don't even know what to call it. But I love - and I mean j'adore - watching cooking shows over the weekend. I can watch them all day. It's not like I try to cook anything that they make (well, maybe sometimes), but seriously, cooking shows to me are like what football is to some men.

Don't even talk to me, just get me a beer.

I've been watching cooking shows recreationally ever since I can remember. As soon as I woke up Saturday mornings, I'd flip on the TV to my local PBS station and watch Yan Can Cook (remember when he used to have an assistant and totally play up the sterotypical Asian angle, even right up to the squity eyes and bucked teeth?), Jacques Pepin, Amish Cooking in Quilt Country (my favorite, although I suspected the hostess was way uptight), and of course, Julia Child.

I don't know what it is about these cooking shows that I love, but there's nothing more fun to me than yelling at the TV at the Barefoot Contessa ("Jeremy's never home because he can't stand your faux-posh Long Island accent!"), drooling over Tyler Florence, or wishing that Paula Deen was my long-lost Southern belle aunt.

The Food Network is like, the best channel ever. My TV used to be glued to MTV. Now my default station is Food Network. Jesus, I'm old.