Why Every Man Should Learn to Cook at Least 5 Meals
Let me tell you about the lowest point of my culinary career. I was 24, recently moved into my first solo apartment, and I tried to make grilled cheese. In the oven. On a plastic cutting board. The fire department didn't come, but only because my neighbor kicked my door in first and threw the melting, smoking abomination into the bathtub. I ate cereal for dinner that night and seriously considered whether I was equipped for independent living.
That was my rock bottom. And honestly? It was the best thing that ever happened to my relationship with food.
Here's the uncomfortable truth most guys avoid: if you can't cook at least a handful of meals, you're basically a tall child with a credit card and a DoorDash addiction. You're spending 4. You're at the mercy of whatever restaurant is still open at 10 PM. And let's be real -- nothing kills romantic momentum faster than a third date where you suggest Applebee's because your kitchen has literally never been used.
I'm not saying you need to start a food blog or buy a truffle shaver. I'm saying you need five meals. Just five. Meals that are hard to screw up, easy to remember, and good enough that people will think you actually have your life together.
Let's get into it.
Meal 1: A Proper Steak
This is the flagship. The one that makes people say "wait, you made this?" Every man should know how to cook a steak, and I don't mean charring it on a George Foreman grill until it has the texture of a wallet.
Here's the method. Get a ribeye or New York strip, at least an inch thick. Take it out of the fridge 30-45 minutes before cooking so it comes to room temperature. Pat it dry with paper towels -- and I mean dry, like you're trying to get every molecule of moisture off the surface. Season it aggressively with salt and pepper. That's it. No steak seasoning packets, no garlic powder blends from 2019.
Get your cast iron skillet screaming hot. I mean smoking. Add a high smoke-point oil like avocado oil. Lay the steak away from you (so you don't splash hot oil on yourself like I did the first time -- I still have a mark on my wrist). Sear it for 3-4 minutes per side for medium-rare. The internal temp you're looking for is 130-135 degrees Fahrenheit. Buy a meat thermometer. They're twelve bucks. Stop guessing.
Now here's where guys always blow it: you have to let it rest. Put it on a cutting board and walk away for 5-8 minutes. I know it smells incredible. I know you're hungry. But if you cut into it immediately, all those juices run out onto the board and you end up with a dry, gray disappointment. The resting is not optional. It's the difference between "wow" and "this is fine, I guess."
While it rests, throw a knob of butter into the still-hot pan with some crushed garlic and fresh rosemary. Spoon that over the steak when you plate it. Congratulations, you've just made a 12.
Meal 2: The "I Have Random Vegetables" Stir Fry
This is the utility player. The meal that turns a fridge full of stuff that's about to go bad into actual food. Every sad bell pepper, lonely carrot, and half-used bag of broccoli gets a second chance at life in a stir fry.
The formula is dead simple. Cut everything into roughly the same size so it cooks evenly. Get a wok or your biggest skillet hot -- like, really hot. Oil in, then protein first (chicken thighs cut into strips, shrimp, sliced beef, whatever you've got). Cook it, remove it, set it aside. Then vegetables go in, hardest ones first (carrots, broccoli stems), softer ones later (bell peppers, snap peas, mushrooms). Two minutes, keep everything moving.
The sauce is where the magic happens, and it's embarrassingly easy: 3 tablespoons soy sauce, 1 tablespoon sesame oil, 1 tablespoon honey or brown sugar, 1 teaspoon of chili flakes, and 2 cloves of minced garlic. Mix that in a bowl, dump it in, toss the protein back, stir it all around for 60 seconds. Serve it over rice.
The first time I made this for a date, she asked what recipe I used. I said "I just kind of threw it together" -- which was technically true, because I'd practiced it four times that week. She didn't need to know that. You're welcome.
Meal 3: Pasta Aglio e Olio
This is your secret weapon. It's Italian, it sounds fancy when you say it out loud, and it takes 15 minutes with 5 ingredients. It's what chefs eat at midnight after their restaurant closes. It's also what got me a second date with my now-girlfriend, so I owe this recipe a debt I can never repay.
Boil your pasta (spaghetti, ideally) in very salty water. While that's going, slice 6-8 cloves of garlic thin. Not minced -- sliced, like you've seen in that one scene from Goodfellas. Heat a generous amount of good olive oil in a pan over medium-low heat and slowly cook the garlic until it's just golden. Not brown. Brown garlic is bitter garlic, and bitter garlic means you start over. Add red pepper flakes to the oil -- as much as you can handle.
When the pasta is al dente, use tongs to transfer it straight into the garlic oil. Don't drain it in a colander -- you want some of that starchy pasta water to come along. Toss it all together, add a little more pasta water if it looks dry, squeeze half a lemon over it, hit it with fresh parsley if you have it, and grate some parmesan on top.
Five ingredients. Fifteen minutes. Costs about $3 to make. And it looks like you went to culinary school. The gap between effort and perceived effort on this one is absolutely criminal.
Meal 4: Sheet Pan Chicken and Vegetables
This is the meal for when you want to eat well but also want to lie on the couch while dinner cooks itself. It's basically: put things on a pan, put pan in oven, wait, eat. It's the meal that taught me that cooking doesn't have to be a performance.
Preheat your oven to 425 degrees. Take bone-in, skin-on chicken thighs (always thighs, never breast -- thighs are juicier, cheaper, and almost impossible to dry out). Season them with salt, pepper, paprika, and garlic powder. Toss chopped vegetables -- potatoes, Brussels sprouts, sweet potatoes, red onion, whatever sounds good -- in olive oil and the same seasonings on a sheet pan. Nestle the chicken thighs on top, skin side up.
Put it in the oven for 35-40 minutes. That's it. The chicken fat renders down onto the vegetables and makes everything taste incredible. The skin gets crispy. The vegetables get caramelized and slightly charred on the edges. You did about 10 minutes of actual work, and the oven did the rest.
I make this at least once a week. It generates leftovers, it's meal-prep friendly, and cleanup is one pan. This is the meal that made me stop ordering delivery on weeknights. And speaking of saving money -- do you know what you can do with the $200-300 a month you save by not ordering Uber Eats five times a week? You could start building a stock portfolio that actually works for your future. Cooking your own food is genuinely one of the easiest ways to free up money for things that matter.
Meal 5: Breakfast Tacos
Weekend mornings are sacred. And nothing says "I'm a functioning adult male who has his act together" like making breakfast tacos from scratch on a Saturday morning instead of lying in bed scrolling your phone until noon.
Scramble some eggs -- and do it right. Low heat, butter in the pan, stir constantly with a spatula. You want soft, creamy curds, not the rubbery yellow hockey pucks you've been making since college. Pull them off the heat while they still look slightly underdone, because they'll keep cooking on the plate.
While the eggs are going, cook some bacon or chorizo in another pan. Warm your tortillas directly over a gas flame for a few seconds per side (or in a dry skillet if you have electric). Dice up an avocado. Throw together a quick pico de gallo: diced tomato, white onion, cilantro, lime juice, salt.
Assemble: tortilla, eggs, meat, avocado, pico, hot sauce. Roll it up. Eat it with coffee on your porch. Feel like an absolute king.
I made these for some buddies after a night out, and one of them -- a guy who has never expressed a single emotion about food -- said "dude, these are actually amazing." That's the highest compliment a man can receive from another man regarding breakfast.
The Bigger Picture
Look, cooking isn't about impressing people, though it absolutely does. It's about not being helpless. It's about knowing that no matter what happens -- the restaurants close, the money gets tight, someone comes over unexpectedly -- you can handle it. You can open your fridge, assess the situation, and turn it into something that tastes good.
There's a quiet confidence that comes from being competent in a kitchen. It's the same feeling you get from changing a tire, or knowing how to do your own taxes, or being the person who stays calm when everyone else is panicking. It's not about showing off. It's about not needing someone else to do a basic life function for you.
Start with one meal. Get comfortable with it. Then add another. Within a month, you'll have all five in your rotation, and you'll start improvising -- adding things, tweaking recipes, figuring out what you like. That's when cooking stops being a chore and starts being something you actually enjoy.
And if you burn something? Good. That's how you learn. I melted a plastic cutting board, and now I can cook a steak that makes people close their eyes when they chew. The disasters are just the origin story.
Now get off the couch and go season that cast iron.
