Hostel kitchens permanently changed my life. For those who haven't experienced them: imagine a semi-industrial kitchen that's 50% too small for the number of users. Many backpackers don't drive while traveling, and perhaps build up negative energy that would otherwise be released by road-rage. This nasty stuff stays pent up until the hours of 5-7pm, when normally mild mannered meanderers body-check competitors for counter space. I took up cooking at four in the afternoon. Still, I rarely had the kitchen to myself. And so I adapted to food prep under duress. Chopping happens quickly. Someone else needs that saucepan, so as soon as the penne's unloaded on my plate, it's washed, dried, and in the hands of a Swede. Basically the good habits I developed make me a faster, less waffling cook. I'm a machine. Call me Mr. Cuisinart.

An aside: Italian girls are the best to cook with, because glorious things called 'lasagna' and 'tiramisu' happen.