I wanted to make banana bread but I kept slipping up. I guess I’m just not very a-peel-ing in the kitchen.
My friend got injured trying to grate cheese. I told him to stay positive, but he said it was a grater tragedy.
The chefs were trying to keep their soup a secret, but it was always leek-ing out.
The new cook was doing a soup-er job until he seasoning the food way too much. I guess he was a little too salty.
The chief gave me a whisk and told me to start whipping up something tasty. I asked “What’s the whisky business all about?”
I entered my dog in the cooking competition but he ended up barking up the wrong tree.
I wanted to bake a pie but ran out of butter. What a crisis! No butter crisis.
When I couldn’t find my oven mitts, I tried to improvise by using pot holders. It ended up being a hot mess.
When the power went out, the formally frozen peas began to thaw. It was a real defrosting experience.
I tried to impress everyone by poaching an egg, but it turned out to be an over-easy mistake.
Baking bread is a piece of cake, as long as you don’t loaf around.
Making gravy seems easy, but there’s more to it than you’d stew over.
I wanted to make pancakes but ran out of baking powder. It was a batter disappointment.
My friend got burned trying to take cookies out of the oven. I tried to ease her pain, but she said it was a blistering experience.
When my wife asked me to baste the turkey, I accidentally sewed up its rear end. I guess I misunderstooded her.
I entered the chili cook-off but my dish was a little peppery for the judges. I guess I added too much spice to their lives.
My friend baked a pie but forgot the sugar. It was pretty tart of her.
Working in the kitchen can get greasy at times. You’ve got to learn to oil with it.
I wanted to poach an egg but I got cold feet. I guess I chickened out.
Baking is a piece of cake, as long as you don’t dessert your post.
Cooking One-Liners (30)
My cooking is so bad, even my smoke alarm told me to order takeout.
I’m so bad at cooking, I can burn soup.
My secret ingredient is ordering takeout.
I’m such a bad cook that my pot roast slid off the fork.
My cooking is so bad even the flies pitched in to order pizza.
My cooking got so bad even the trash can went on a diet.
My cooking is so bad the health inspector rated me a Z.
I’m not saying my husband married me for my cooking, but he calls Pizza Hut “the other woman.”
Don’t trust my cooking unless you like your meat well deceased.
I love cooking with herbs and spices. Mostly takeout menus.
The only kitchen appliance I haven’t burnt myself on is the ice dispenser.
My family describes my cooking as Michellin disappointing.
I cook with the heart and soul of a microwave oven.
My cooking could be used to punish war criminals.
I’m so dangerous in the kitchen, I need a fire extinguisher nearby when I make cereal.
You know you’re a bad cook when you mess up instant noodles.
Don’t worry if my food taste bad, it looks even worse.
My cooking motto: When in doubt, takeout.
I can burn water. Just hand me a pot.
I don’t cook. I assemble takeout.
My family won’t let me cook because I keep triggering the smoke alarm.
Iron Chef? I’m more like a rusty spatula.
I’d lose a cooking contest to a slice of burnt toast.
Emeril Lagasse I’m not. More like Craig Takes-Too-Long-To-Heat-Up-A-Frozen-Pizza.
Rachael Ray finds inspiration in fresh ingredients. I find inspiration in fast food coupons.
Paula Deen once shook her head at my under-seasoned chicken.
Bobby Flay was amazed I burned pasta. Boiling water is hard, okay?
Gordon Ramsay took one bite of my beef Wellington and spit it into a napkin.
My oven doesn’t know whether to laugh or cry when I start cooking.
I once started a small fire making Jell-O.
Best Cooking Jokes (38)
I told my husband he was cooking breakfast all wrong, so he challenged me to do better. I grabbed some eggs and milk and whipped up the craziest thing. When I was done, my husband just shook his head and said, “That’s not how you make pancakes.”
My wife asked me to cook dinner while she was out. She said all I had to do was heat up the leftovers in the fridge. I looked in the fridge and found some weird green casserole, so I heated it up. When my wife got home, she screamed when she saw her molded tuna casserole bubbling on the stove. Now I’m only allowed to order takeout.
Last Thanksgiving, my mom asked me to cook the turkey. I had never attempted anything so big, but I assured her I could handle it. I prepared the turkey and popped it in the oven while my family watched football. A few hours later, we were startled by a loud boom coming from the kitchen. We ran in to find the oven door blown open and pieces of flaming turkey scattered everywhere. We ordered Chinese food while I cleaned up the mess. I don’t think I’ll be cooking turkey again any time soon.
When my roommate said he was making homemade ravioli for dinner, I was excited to have a home-cooked meal for once. But that excitement faded when I saw him drop a can of Chef Boyardee on the floor, scoop the mushy ravioli back into the can and serve it to us for dinner. I should have known better.
I told my husband I was making a fancy dinner to impress our new neighbors who were coming over. When he came home, he found me sobbing in the kitchen surrounded by pots and pans covered in scorch marks. I wailed that I had burned the appetizers, the entrees, and two pots in my many failed attempts. My husband gently suggested we order a pizza and just tell the neighbors I made it from scratch.
For my mom’s birthday, I offered to cook her favorite meal—baked salmon with asparagus and rice pilaf. It was my first time cooking fish, and I wanted it to be perfect. But I got the baking time wrong and left it in too long. When I pulled the blackened salmon brick out of the oven, the kitchen filled with smoke and the fire alarm went off. We decided to go out for sushi instead.
My girlfriend told me she was making a homemade lasagna for our 6-month anniversary dinner. When she brought out two trays of perfectly layered lasagna, I was so impressed. As we ate, I commented how this was just as good as the lasagna from Italian restaurants. She finally admitted she bought it fully cooked from the grocery store and just heated it up. Hey, it still tasted amazing to me!
For my first apartment, my grandma gifted me a box of pans, cooking utensils, and her old family recipes. For my first meal, I followed the recipe for “Grandma’s Famous Pot Roast.” After several hours of searing, simmering, and basting, I proudly served my creation. The meat was so tough my fork bent. My grandma laughed, then ordered pizza and taught me how to really make her pot roast.
My girlfriend loves breakfast foods, so I offered to make her omelets for her birthday brunch. On the big day, I cracked a dozen eggs into a bowl and tried whisking them—keyword “tried.” After what looked like an egg explosion in my kitchen, I showed up at my girlfriend’s with an egg-stained shirt and two boxes of donuts instead.
My wife went out of town and left me with simple instructions to cook a frozen pizza for dinner. At dinnertime, I preheated the oven and unwrapped the pizza. Distracted by a phone call, I forgot I had put the pizza in. Three hours later, I opened the oven to the most charred pizza you’ve ever seen. My wife hasn’t left me alone with the oven since.
For my boyfriend’s birthday, I tried making his favorite dessert, tiramisu. I don’t have much baking experience, so it was an ambitious choice. Let’s just say the final product looked more like a failed science experiment than a tasty Italian dessert. We had a good laugh before going out for gelato instead.
On Thanksgiving morning, my dad assigned me to prep the green bean casserole. I opened a can of beans and grabbed some onions from the pantry. After sautéing everything together, I poured it into a casserole dish and popped it in the oven. A few minutes later, smoke was pouring out, and I realized I had accidentally grabbed onions that were months past their expiration date. We ordered sides from Boston Market that year.
The first time I tried to fry fish, it was an epic fail. I heated up a pan with a half-inch of oil like the recipe said. When I put the fish fillets in, oil splattered everywhere, even on my glasses. Turns out shallow-frying requires way less oil. At least my kitchen got a good scrubbing.
My girlfriend mentioned she loved creme brulee, so I offered to make it for Valentine’s Day dessert. I had never made custard before, let alone perfectly caramelized sugar on top. After many failed custard attempts, I gave up and picked up some eclairs from her favorite bakery instead. Maybe next year I’ll master creme brulee.
One Thanksgiving, my mom assigned me to make the cranberries while she cooked the turkey. I opened up a can of sauce and poured it in a pot with some oranges. Later, when mom tasted the runny, sour mixture, she asked what I had done. Turns out you’re supposed to use fresh cranberries, not canned sauce. Oops.
My boyfriend loves mac and cheese, so I looked up a baked mac and cheese recipe for our movie night dinner. The recipe seemed simple enough—boil the noodles, make a cheese sauce, combine, and bake. But 30 minutes later, I pulled out a scorched pan of noodles fused together in solid cheese cement. We picked up KFC on the way to the theater instead.
For my friend’s engagement party, I offered to make a batch of my “famous” deviled eggs. I had made them once before, so how hard could it be? Very hard apparently. My eggs came out with runny yolks, browning whites, and not enough filling. Let’s just say those were the only deviled eggs not eaten that night.
My wife’s birthday was coming up, so I decided to surprise her with a homemade cake. I borrowed my neighbor’s Bundt pan and selected aconfetti cake recipe. As I poured the batter into the pan, it seemed less than half full, but I forged ahead anyway. I should have known better. When I pulled out a tiny cake puck, my neighbor explained her pan was for mini Bundt cakes only. Major baking fail.
For our anniversary dinner, I wanted to prepare steak Diane, which involved flambéing the steak in cognac right at the table. But as I tipped the pan toward the flames, the sudden burst of fire made me flinch. I accidentally flung the steaks into my wife’s lap. We spent our anniversary dinner at the nearby diner instead.
My girlfriend jokingly dared me to bake a cake using water instead of eggs. Never one to back down from a challenge, I found a simple vanilla cake recipe and swapped water for the eggs. The “cake” came out of the oven looking like a dry, cracked pancake. Next time I’ll let logic, not my pride, guide my baking.
For my dad’s birthday, I offered to grill steaks for the whole family. I oiled up the grill, threw on the steaks, and walked away. I had forgotten the cardinal rule—never leave grilling steaks unattended. When I returned, everyone was coughing from the plumes of smoke coming from the grill. We had hockey pucks for dinner that night.
My boyfriend’s daughter was coming over for dinner, so I found an easy baked ziti recipe to impress her. But I got the cooking time wrong—way wrong. I served up crunchy, al dente noodles in a runny, flavorless sauce. Let’s just say I’m not her favorite person to cook dinner anymore.
For a dinner party, I volunteered to bring appetizers. I found a recipe for stuffed mushrooms that seemed fail proof. However, my lack of knife skills resulted in quite a few finger bandages. I finally resorted to chopping the mushroom filling ingredients in the food processor. The stuffing came out like mush, but I scooped it into the mushroom caps anyway. Not my finest cooking moment.
Attempting Julia Child’s coq au vin for my boyfriend seemed romantic at the time. But wow, did I not think through the complexities of braising chicken in wine sauce. The dish came out a burnt, mushy mess in a purple broth. Next time, we’ll stick to take out if I want to be romantic.
I tried to impress my mother-in-law by roasting a whole chicken for Sunday dinner. Unfortunately, I got distracted and left the chicken in the oven for twice as long as the recipe called for. She politely dipped a fork into the hockey puck chicken before asking if she could contribute a salad.
For my first grown-up Thanksgiving dinner, I was in charge of roasting the turkey. But I got my silicone basting brush too close to the oven broiler. Next thing you know, the flaming basting brush has fallen onto the turkey, lighting it on fire! We had sandwiches that Thanksgiving.
When tasked with making mashed potatoes, I figured using a hand mixer would save time and effort. I thought wrong. Those potatoes plastered my entire kitchen. I was still finding dried flakes weeks later in my hair, shoes, cabinets…everywhere. Never again.
