Currently I sit at my kitchen table, my back towards the children who are for once in their life playing quietly in the living room. I type with fast fingers though because this will more than likely change in the next few minutes. I am staring out of my window into the abyss that is a snowstorm. It has decided to shower down upon us and my previous optimistic post towards the ever giving Mother Nature has run its course. Once again I am pissed with her!
So instead of dwelling on current circumstances I decide that this horrible weather calls for some nice homemade cookin’. The problem is Jamie isn’t home. This means I will have to try my hand at using this curious cooking machine snuggled neatly between the counters that hold my coffee pot and toaster.
The title of this post says it all. Never have been, probably never will. Of course I can make the basics, and I manage to sustain my brood with daily nutritional provisions, but I can undoubtedly say that this sentence is not in the slightest an exaggeration. I am not a cook.
On the other hand, my significant other is, by trade a chef. So we do not go without good food. I love to sit at the kitchen table and watch him in action, he is so confident when conjuring up new and interesting recipes. The knife he dices with will begin to look like an extension of the man himself, never once seizing in freight of a stray finger. He is like some sort of exotic animal in the prime of his territory, so convincing and at ease. This is where he was meant to be.
And then there is me. If by comparison; he is some exotic beast, I am a wounded and deformed creature who has been left for dead. No chance of survival in this place of creativity and imagination. To make matters worse, when I do try to take a ride on the cooking short bus I always seem to tell myself with this diluted self-assurance that, ‘Hey, you don’t need to follow that dumb recipe. Your lack of experience and inability to cook anything well, will definitely guide you towards certain victory!’ And I listen.
On the menu today is this delicious carrot and lentil soup recipe I have come across while angrily trying to figure why everyone is so excited about this Pintrest thing. I glance at it for a whole of 20 seconds, decide on how I can make this a thousand times better and get to work.
“Hmmm now where is that carrot peeler…Ahh this is unfortunate…Wow getting a little frustrated because I can’t find that damn peeler….FOR THE LOVE OF GOD, HOW HAVE WE LOST A STUPID PEELER!” I am yelling in a fit of rage about a carrot peeler when the kids make their way towards the kitchen.
“Mama, can we help you cook?” Lars asks, in a way too innocent tone for the rebuttal I give him.
“NO, I don’t want you guys in here while I’m cooking.”
“But, Daddy lets us help him.”
“Ya?! Well I’m not Daddy! Here, go play with your play dough and pretend to cook something.” My tone is not something I am proud of, now that I relive the moment. I decide I am going to end up blaming this whole incident on my husband who has to be just so damn cool in the kitchen.
OK so kids are dealt with and I continue with my cookery. I’m dicing, and chopping, boiling and pureeing and I’m pretty sure I am doing all of this in the correct order too, I am on fire! Literally….I am literally on fire. I left the oil to fry this or that heating up, then I forgot to put this or that in the pan and now have a grease fire to contend with on my stove top. Luckily the patio door is right there and I swing the thing out it onto the snow-covered deck.
Phew, close one. I set in on round two of ‘let’s try and kill yourself by means of sauteing’ and discover that I only have a tiny bit of frozen chicken stock left (my husband makes and freezes all kinds of stocks and sauces, in order to make life easier…or in an attempt to limit my access with stoves and sharp objects as much as possible.) So I dig around in the freezer a little bit longer and find something that sort of resembles stock. Fling ‘er into the pot and hope for the best.
By the end of my home economics jaunt I have a pureed veggie soup that’s coloring sort of reminds me of yellow curry paste, and am now wondering if that could have to do with the mystery sauce I threw in earlier. Also in my diluted chef state I have concocted a one pot meal in my slow-cooker of diced potatoes, gravy (frozen…Another great find from the freezer) and stringy burnt dark meat chicken strands which I blistered my fingers on trying to rip apart after cooking them in the stove.
Maybe I will toss in some green beans, I’m pretty sure that’ll complete it. I am also pretty sure this will complete my ever trying to cook anything from scratch again.