I can't cook.
We have our little restaurants, and there's a beautiful beach that we go to in the summer and fall. We tend to have a lot of get-togethers, and if it's at my house, we order pizza because I can't cook.
I am spoiled, it's true. I don't even know how to use that thing in the kitchen with the burners.
I don't know how to cook at all.
I don't cook very often. Actually, I'd go further: I can't cook.
If I'm really honest, I can't cook. I'm, like, the worst, worst, worst cook in the world.
When I moved to Paris at 16, I held a dinner party in my first apartment and served only red wine, French fries, and mashed potatoes. Unable to cook, I relied on people taking me out.
I like to eat. Definitely. I love sitting around a table with my friends. But I don't know how to cook anything.
I don't cook very well at all. I'm the girl that can't make scrambled eggs.
I can't cook. I can barely make a bowl of cereal.
I've never cooked. I can't do much more in the kitchen than make a cup of tea and some toast.
I have to go out for lunch and dinner because I can't cook. I need a woman to come and save me from my cooking.
I don't cook. I don't know anything about food. I've never reviewed a restaurant.
I can't do most things, if I'm honest, but cooking I definitely can't do.
I don't cook, 'cause I don't know how to cook.
I can't cook to save my life. I'm a disaster.
I cannot cook to save my life. I'm really frighteningly useless, when you get down to it.
