Batman couldn't cook.
The definition of "couldn't" was roughly as follows:
"Alfred, I believe we need more precise measuring tools than an electronic scale. Considering the size of the kitchen, I think a Scale would be good. What do you think?"
"No, sir, we do not need a Scale."
"But I believe the previous failure was caused by insufficient grams of starch. Updating our equipment in time would help correct my mistakes in cooking."
"That was not the mistake, sir."
"Then where do you think it was? I would be glad to hear your advice."
"I cannot presumptuously describe your error, because I am certain you would dislike that particular phrasing. It would also be quite rude and disrespectful. I suggest we skip that step."
"And then?"
"You may leave the kitchen for now. In short, go wait for your meal."
That was the conversation from the last time Batman had tried to cook—incidentally, he had been at least thirty years old then—and that was basically the extent of his culinary skill.
Great chefs always said cooking required a certain amount of inspiration. But if even Batman's meticulousness could not produce the most basic dishes, then why exactly couldn't he cook? Perhaps only God could answer that. Some people were simply born incompatible with kitchens, which was why Alfred had said Batman would not like the answer.
Batman certainly would not like it, because deep down, he knew that if God really did answer him, He would point at his nose and curse, "If you see eating as nothing more than the intake of nutrients necessary to sustain life, then you will never make any delicious food."
That was the fundamental reason Batman was bad at cooking. From the bottom of his heart, he thought both cooking and eating were