Sunday, October 11, 2009


I just had my culinary wings clipped, and it hurt.

Ever since marrying Will, I have taken on a new role in the kitchen. Before, he and I worked side-by-side producing decent, healthy meals, but now, it is my domain. I am head chef.

It is a role that I have grown to love. I have always enjoyed cooking (without recipes) because of the freedom of creation and because its food, and I love food.

It brings me nothing but pure pleasure to watch Will eat and enjoy a meal cooked solely by me. I have put a few new twists on some old favorites that don't go unnoticed.

"This is definitely the best that you have made" has become a frequent comment from Will. Some of our favorites are Fri' Ri' with squash, zucchini, onions, fried eggs and chicken (if it isn't our veggie night); fried cubed pork with mashed potatoes, DELISH gravy, and stir-fried-then-steamed broccoli; zucchini linguine; turkey quesadillas with my salsa; and tuna cakes over arugula with buttered noodles.

I have also begun a new tradition with boring old sandwiches for lunch, where I toast the bread on a buttered skillet and melt the cheese on the bread before smothering on some mayo and spicy mustard and loading it down with some arugula and sliced chicken. Bread toasted in butter is so much better. Trust me.

Well, today was like every other weekend lunch with toasted chicken and provolone sandwiches. Except, I thought I would make it extra special for Will by boiling him some tomato soup. He likes the Campbell's condensed with milk instead of water. Anyways, the sandwiches were nearly toasted to complete perfection when I noticed that the soup was barely warm. So, I cranked up the temp and put on the lid.

This is a very bad habit of mine.

I like to speed up the cooking/boiling process by placing the lid on the pan, which usually (think: always) ends up boiling over. Usually, it is just water from a pot of butter beans or peas and no biggie. Well, today it was scalding tomato soup that spurted like a volcanic eruption from beneath the glass lid as Will grabbed it off the stove and held it at arm's length to avoid burns, chastising me the whole time, as I stood helpless at the sink and confessed that it "always happens to me, dang it!" It went everywhere and found every nook and cranny of our circa 1980 stove to infiltrate. Boy, did it.

It was so bad that the kodak moment that it was was not captured on camera, because it was such a total mess. (Also, the sandwiches were warm and ready and what was left of the soup wasn't exactly scorched, so still edible, and we were way hungry after a late church service and dun-da-dun!, Wal-Mart.)

After lunch, it was time to face the mess and tackle it somehow. Pretty soon, I was literally up to my elbows in the stove, as it had poured down into the belly of it below the burners, sopping up cold tomato soup with very un-absorbent paper towels. Will was up to his elbows in suds (of course) trying to salvage our very nice (and very pricey) Calphalon stainless steel pot. It was a silent cleaning session.

Needless to say, we now have a very clean stove, including burners, belly and all other attachments and parts, and a very clean pot.

And then the kicker:

As we both laughed over the incident, Will remarked, "Babe, today just isn't your day; you've lost your culinary skills."

Clip. Clip. Ouch.

1 comment:

  1. Girl, it took me 20 years before I felt comfortable in the kitchen. You are light years ahead of me! Keep on plugging.

    (and, I too, prefer my tomato soup mixed with milk!)