My imaginary friend is great at memorizing recipes.

  A fact I truly wished never to discover, but here we are.

  She remembers what to do without checking the recipe every few seconds and she thinks ahead to manage my time properly.

  It’s truly an impressive talent and it would have probably been really helpful if I wasn’t completely ignoring her orders.

  Being two weeks old and imaginary, Ami still hasn't had a chance to learn how recipes actually work.

  Well, my naive friend, let me teach you the true art of cooking.

  Open up six different recipes for the same dish, pick a single step from each recipe and do whatever the hell you want in between.

  Following all the instructions is for crazy people, and I’m sure as hell not one.

  It’s very important to add at least two ingredients that none of the recipes suggest for that personal touch of chaos.

  I also like to double the suggested salt, but that might be just a personal opinion.

  This is the true form of cooking, a sort of freedom that can never be truly replicated.

  This pasta will only exist now, because I never bothered to look at the labels of the spices I used.

  As the old saying goes, you only master cooking when you can make a pizza by following a hamburger recipe

  Well, I was the one who said that, but it’s still true regardless..

  Does it count as a saying if I never actually said it out loud?

  Sometimes I wonder how much wisdom has the world missed due to my lacking communication skills.

  Well, now that I took an imaginary sous chef under my wing, I am sure it will be passed down through the ages.

  “The box says we should boil the pasta for a few more minutes.”

  I will not allow a cardboard box to dictate my actions.

  I am already being forced to cook by an imaginary person, there has to be a red line somewhere.

  “Argh, you aren’t doing a single thing like they did in that video.”

  And this is exactly why this will turn out to be a masterpiece.

  I pour some of the pasta water into a glass with a rose flavored tea bag in it, and drain the rest of it out.

  The narrative has been illicitly obtained; should you discover it on Amazon, report the violation.

  I move the pasta into the sauce without cooling it down and pour the hastily brewed tea into the pan.

  Now I have to keep tossing the pasta over the flame while listening to the grumbling of an inexperienced chef.

  “Are you sure this is even the same dish anymore?”

  Not at all, now get out of my kitchen!!!

  What is she so worried about?

  I just made a few minor adjustments, before completely disregarding the instructions and going on a journey of self expression.

  This is the essence of what cooking is all about, or maybe it was art?

  Same difference in the end.

  Well, it is her first time creating after all, maybe I should make an effort to reassure my skeptical student.

  “I-it’s fine “

  The highest praise from a reclusive genius, how ecstatic must she be.

  Oh, she still looks worried, that didn’t go how I expected at all.

  Could it be that she is questioning my skills?

  The nerve of her, people like her are why Van Gogh ended up with only one ear.

  Just wait until you get a taste of this, you will be singing my praises in no time.

  Oh right, she is imaginary.

  How can I prove the genius of my cooking to someone who can’t even taste it?

  The only choice I have left is over exaggerated reactions.

  “Why are you making weird faces all of a sudden?”

  “D-delicious.”

  “You haven’t even tried it yet.”

  You haven’t either and it doesn’t stop you from making faces at it.

  I guess my skills won’t be recognized today, but I still carry a great responsibility regardless.

  Like all mothers when their child faces imminent danger, I must eat it for its own protection.

  Humans are one of those animals right?

  I turn off the stove and pour a helping of pasta into a bowl.

  The sauce, which can not be named due to the unique circumstances of its creation, glistens with a pristine pinkish color.

  I move my fork with purpose, spin it around in the middle of the bowl and take a bite.

  Delicious.

  Well, I never questioned myself for a moment.

  Despite appearances and my usual meal choices, I am quite confident in my cooking skills.

  My creations often suit my taste, even if others can’t fully understand the underlying brilliance that brings them to life.

  “Is it good?”

  Good doesn't even begin to describe it, I think wonderful will be more fitting or maybe superb, even magnificent might be in order.

  I can also go with a simple nod and avoid talking, that seems more like me.

  “I’m glad you enjoy it, I was a bit worried how it would turn out when you started ignoring all the recipes.”

  I only ever did what was necessary, except for the tea maybe.

  Still, I regret nothing.

  Actually, I might be willing to regret everything if it gets me out of cooking again.

  I eat my pasta a bit too fast and it gets stuck in my throat.

  It really has been awhile since I made something like that.

  Normally I would just throw a few hotdogs in the oven and come back to get them once their smell reaches my room.

  Since I don’t even bother with bread, it truly is just minimal effort.

  Today’s meal truly tastes better than usual.

  There are still dishes I have to wash before I can rest, but at least I’ll have company while I do them.