I’m not a cook. We know this. But here in another country without my mom’s food to steal, I have to figure out SOME way to keep myself alive. I decided to make tacos. I went to the local chain grocery store – Sainsbury’s – and bought meat, taco shells, seasoning and avocados. This evening I finally had time to cook it when no one else was using the kitchen, so I figured out the electric stove and started to fry up the meat; I’ve seen my mom do it a thousand times, so at least I had that going for me. It was going really well and I chopped the hamburger up while I cut the avocados, added the seasoning and drained the grease into a glass to cool (honestly it’s amazing I knew to do that at all), and then turned on the oven to heat up two taco shells. The directions said they only needed 2-3 minutes, so I popped them in and went to my room to grab my mug, but when I got back something smelled funny. I opened the oven a huge cloud of smoke came billowing out! The three other people in the common area rushed over to help, setting up fans, opening windows, and turning on the cold water so we could grab the shells out and stop them from setting on fire. These buildings have been standing strong for centuries, and I was NOT going to be the one who burns them down. Thank goodness. In the middle of the chaos, three guys came home and entered the smoke-cloud-of-a-kitchen – Chris, Luke and Xander – started coughing and yelled, “what’s going on!?” All I had to do was say “I tried to cook,” and Chris goes “OHHH makes sense.” Once the fiasco was over, I used the microwave to heat up new taco shells. Microwaves are the only Bianca-safe appliance, apparently. No one give me a blender.