Havin' Ham, Makin' Bacon

I live (for at least three more days) with a soccer coach and a bartender.  In the grand scheme of things, compared to my profession (or lack thereof), those are pretty masculine jobs.  

So it was of little surprise to me when, in preparation for the move, I went downstairs to see what I could cook up before we left that I was given a bit of stick for cooking.  I settled upon a box of carrot cake.  Simple enough.  Add mix, three eggs, one cup water, 1/2 cup vegetable oil, bake for 40 minutes, et voila, carrot cake.

As I headed downstairs, one of my roommates was already there, fixing up a delicious meal of microwaveable beef stew.  Yum.  As I began my delicate task of shearing open the plastic bag of cake mix, he asked me "Baking again?", not with any real malice, but with a sort of internal surprise that I would subject myself to actually cooking food.   After all, I had already baked a load of brownies that turned out horrible, and about 100 chocolate chip cookies that were a real hit.   

I had just woken up, so I was feeling a bit groggy, and mumbled something about trying to use up all the food we had bought before we left, to which my roommate gave a slight chuckle before absconding with his masterpiece from Lloyds.

I had just finished greasing the pan and pouring in the mix when my second roommate and his girlfriend came down in search of some nibblies.  As they proceeded to toast single pieces of white bread, butter them, then slap on a piece of cheese, another round of inquiries followed:  "What are you cooking now?  You're a proper housewife."  I maundered that "kept man" was the term I preferred, and popped in the cake and went upstairs.  40 minutes later, the cake was done, and I enjoyed a piece.  Light, fluffy, yet with just the hint of box store normalcy that would let anyone know I had not made it from scratch.

So between these two studs, and a couple of other friends that I'm a little closer with that I don't really mind the teasing from - I've received quite a bit of ribbing for my enjoyment of cooking!  And I want to know what the big deal is!

I like to cook, and I'm a guy.  Emeril is a guy.  Mario Batalli is a guy.  Guy Fieri is a, well, guy.  And they like to cook!  Does it make me less manly to want to cook?  Is it that I cook for my girlfriend a lot?  Am I embarassing you tough jocks who don't know how to show your girl a good time?  Or maybe it's because I can't afford a Bahamas cruise for my girl (yet) as a way of showing affection?

Sorry, I had to blow some steam off.  I hate doing that.  

What's wrong with being a guy and wanting to cook?