We all woke up, headed downstairs, drank some coffee, and shook off the sleep. I boldly announced I was going to cook a completely revolutionary meal. Everyone was thrilled because they were starving and ready for something spectacular. A few hours went by, and the kitchen was an absolute disaster area, but nothing was on the table. My oldest daughter complained, but my wife and mother-in-law quickly shut her down. "Let your father cook," they snapped. I stepped out of the smoke and smiled. "Don't worry, only two more hours. I realized the pan I was using wasn't optimized for the heat, so I threw it out and started over in a brand-new copper pot." A few more hours went by, and it was well past lunchtime. My oldest and youngest started to cry from hunger, but the defenders in the room silenced them instantly. "You just don't understand cooking," they were told. "Eat a snack and go play on the grass." I peeked out again. "Two more hours. I decided the dish needed time-consuming, hand-mashed garlic rather than minced, so I threw out the first batch of sauce to rebuild the flavor foundation from scratch." Another two hours passed. Now, even my mother-in-law was losing her mind. "You said you were making breakfast, and it has been six hours!" I looked at her with pure disappointment. I told her she lacked the vision to appreciate true cooking, and that greatness takes time. Besides, I wasn't even making breakfast anymore. I had completely scrapped the dish three times. I was now making beans and rice! I returned to the kitchen, confident that the beans and rice would be overwhelmingly accepted. Of course, that was delayed too. I didn't have any pre-soak beans, bought the wrong type of rice, and accidentally left the stove burner on high when I went to the store to buy a specialized, imported Japanese onion knife. The knife was essential and would speed up preparation. I had also spent a large portion of our grocery budget on a state-of-the-art blender I didn't even end up using. The kitchen was currently a chaotic, smoky mess of half-chopped ingredients that didn't fit together. But the vision was still alive. Hungry and frustrated, the family pleaded for some kind of meal, each taking the time to do so clearly and respectfully. I told them, "You need to wait. Cooking is healthy and saves money." My mother-in-law chimed in, "Gib Texas Roadhouse." Graciously, I let her order it through her own DoorDash account. Finally, throwing in the towel at fourteen long hours, I piled the rest of the starving family into the car and took them to 7-Eleven for wrinkled roller-grill hot dogs and questionable spicy chicken Tornados. And that my friends, is how it is done.