In my house, wine glasses outnumber cooking utensils three-to-one.

My microwave broke recently (it happened during the Oscars this year -- one can only imagine it was in protest of Marion Cotillard's dress). Sadly, with it went my one real desire to be a part of the cooking world (I hear your ponderances on why I just didn't buy a new one and I dismiss them. Please stop questioning my blog logic), which derived almost entirely from that machine (and those wonderful labels that companies spend so much time preparing for the packaging. Yes, I'm NOT ashamed to admit I'm the reason they put cooking directions on chicken).

I've always had a natural aversion to using stoves, which I think has to do with a batch of spearmint taffy that I made once as a child that went horribly awry. I learned three things that day: 1) You can never substitute dark corn syrup for light corn syrup; 2) When they say a drop of spearmint flavor, it is not a typo; and 3) when you make a batch of taffy that goes horribly awry, don't put it in a tupperware container and hide it under the kitchen sink. I also grew up in a town where Pizza Hut was THE place to go for Italian, and going to Olive Garden meant that you were getting engaged (or at least, asked to move into his trailer). Because of this, I never really developed a refined palate, or even a desire to eat anything that doesn't come with safety packaging.

All of this probably wouldn't be a problem if I didn't live in New York City, where being a foodie is de rigeur and almost every neighborhood is a veritable orgasm of foodstuffs. I had hoped that when I moved here that I would become more discerning, but the fact remains, I *STILL* cannot taste the coriander in your soup, I continue to be uncertain of what kale looks like, and I remain baffled by how anyone can buy vegetables when manufacturers don't have the decency to provide expiration dates.

Still, while my ignorance can be a bit of an annoyance, I kind of like that, as I'm surrounded by co-workers discussing the merits of granite vs. marble for a mortar and pestle ("It's pestle, Erin, not pustule"), I'm wondering if the Chinatown Duane Reade still has Circus Peanuts on sale. And what of purchasing a new microwave? Maybe, but not anytime soon, as I have transitioned to a raw diet. Now I only buy things that can be eaten straight from the package.

PHOTO: Next time you're hating on my favorite candy, please remember that, without Circus Peanuts, the world would not have Lucky Charms. And you're welcome.