I’m going along day by day, battling the heat, daydreaming about remodeling, watering the elephant ears, going to the health club and so on. All of a sudden, it occurs to me that I have plain flat forgotten how to cook.

When I make salmon the other night, it turns out dry and tasteless, a perfect match for the slightly mushy and pale pan-roasted potatoes. Sunday, I broil pork chops spread with a chili powder based spice rub I had made from scratch. They taste a little like chili in search of ground beef and keep their distance from the pitiful Moroccan couscous from a box.

Chicken piccata, my go-to dish, even disappoints. The chicken breasts are too thick and burn rather than saute, not even the fresh loaf of french bread comforts them. I want to eat all my meals at Taco Bell (crunchy tacos) or Panera’s (the Pick 2 Special with my choice of a half sand and soup or salad).

I guess this is what the elders mean as a dry spell.

I haul out Joy of Cooking and flip through it reading tips and techniques.  I avoid recipes that tell me to dice, peel or marinate. I do not want to mince, grind or shave. I want to be in and out.

I make French Scrambled Eggs, 4 eggs cooked with butter, salt and pepper in a double boiler for 12 minutes. I add small squares of cream cheese at the end. The double boiler protects the eggs from drying out and getting tough. I add bacon and toast with fig jam.  I’m on the road to recovery.