One thing I cook fairly well is pasta. It must be difficult to do wrong, because I'm not an accomplished chef by any stretch. My experience in the kitchen is limited and mostly self-taught. So if I invite you over for dinner, be wary.
Besides, I only know how to cook for one.
Before tonight I'd never tried spaghetti. Penne rigate, with pesto from the deli case, is the dish on which I've built my reputation. Boil the pasta, add the sauce. That's what I'm good at (if I do say so, which I have to, since no one else has ever eaten it).
Okay, so it doesn't add much to my resumé. Still, it's a cheap meal a couple of times a week, and for a single guy who spent most of his life eating either frozen or fast food, it's an achievement of some merit.
I went to my cookbook for idiots to make sure I was getting started right. It recommended measuring the spaghetti by crooking your forefinger and thumb into a circle the size of a quarter. That circle is supposed to hold a single, generous helping. It seemed to be a lot of pasta, but I went with it.
Spaghetti turned out to be so easy to cook that next time I might try making a sauce instead of just opening a can. That part was a disappointment.
I'll probably use a little less spaghetti the next time, too. A quarter-sized circle's worth filled my plate to overflowing and filled my stomach beyond the comfort level. Somehow I managed to eat it all, so it couldn't have been too vile.