My Cooking Conundrum
I love this moment.
Writing with headset on full volume, perching Nine Inch Nails squarely on my tympanic membrane. (There is nothing like a song with a string of expletives to silence the "Lazy Town" theme song I had stuck in my head all day!) Feelings of competence also abound as a fairly delicious meal was on the table at 5:45pm. Poor Dave, I know he's wandering around right now mumbling something about the calamity I left behind in the kitchen when I unplugged. I had to unplug - I've only got an hour to retrieve my soul and restore my faculties to 100% for tonight's Americas Next Top Model!
The domestic front typically gets me down. Laundry is a problem, storage solutions are absent and the only thing that sucks my will to live more than Funshine Bear is cooking a square meal. From time to time I fall into a Fly Lady trance, which can last from 30 seconds to 48 hours, rarely longer. Her regimen strangely involves lace up shoes, a control journal, a shiny sink and a well-balanced meal on the table every night. (Personally I feel Fly Lady might really want to tie people up instead of her lace up shoes, but I'll reserve that conversation for another post!) Even when I'm not under Fly Lady's spell, I sometimes think I love cooking. On closer inspection, what I really love is what I do to prop myself up during cooking which includes, but is not limited to: drinking red wine, listening to Blues and holding Nigella Lawsons "How to Become a Domestic Goddess" book close to my heart.
All props aside, I feel that practically speaking, it's not safe for me to be cooking before Dave gets home! Sure, let's take a 5, 3, 1.5 and sleep deprived 36 year old and add hot burners and oven temperatures in excess of 350 degrees to the mix. I know Mom, the children shouldn't be allowed near the stove but I'm fairly certain I shouldn't allow them to play with knives either and there has been an occasion where I've stepped out of the room for 60 seconds (mammas have to go potty too) only to find Zoë playing with a knife that Clara had gifted to her.
I've been advised that the solution to my cooking conundrum is THE CROCK POT only that apparatus makes me dizzy. I have to project manage the process all the livelong day to avoid mushy vegetables, especially carrots! Put them in too soon, too mushy. Put them in too late, too crispy. And if I don't get it JUST RIGHT and bite into a mushy carrot it makes me feel like I might rather be dangling by my eyelashes from the nearest maple tree.
Writing with headset on full volume, perching Nine Inch Nails squarely on my tympanic membrane. (There is nothing like a song with a string of expletives to silence the "Lazy Town" theme song I had stuck in my head all day!) Feelings of competence also abound as a fairly delicious meal was on the table at 5:45pm. Poor Dave, I know he's wandering around right now mumbling something about the calamity I left behind in the kitchen when I unplugged. I had to unplug - I've only got an hour to retrieve my soul and restore my faculties to 100% for tonight's Americas Next Top Model!
The domestic front typically gets me down. Laundry is a problem, storage solutions are absent and the only thing that sucks my will to live more than Funshine Bear is cooking a square meal. From time to time I fall into a Fly Lady trance, which can last from 30 seconds to 48 hours, rarely longer. Her regimen strangely involves lace up shoes, a control journal, a shiny sink and a well-balanced meal on the table every night. (Personally I feel Fly Lady might really want to tie people up instead of her lace up shoes, but I'll reserve that conversation for another post!) Even when I'm not under Fly Lady's spell, I sometimes think I love cooking. On closer inspection, what I really love is what I do to prop myself up during cooking which includes, but is not limited to: drinking red wine, listening to Blues and holding Nigella Lawsons "How to Become a Domestic Goddess" book close to my heart.
All props aside, I feel that practically speaking, it's not safe for me to be cooking before Dave gets home! Sure, let's take a 5, 3, 1.5 and sleep deprived 36 year old and add hot burners and oven temperatures in excess of 350 degrees to the mix. I know Mom, the children shouldn't be allowed near the stove but I'm fairly certain I shouldn't allow them to play with knives either and there has been an occasion where I've stepped out of the room for 60 seconds (mammas have to go potty too) only to find Zoë playing with a knife that Clara had gifted to her.
I've been advised that the solution to my cooking conundrum is THE CROCK POT only that apparatus makes me dizzy. I have to project manage the process all the livelong day to avoid mushy vegetables, especially carrots! Put them in too soon, too mushy. Put them in too late, too crispy. And if I don't get it JUST RIGHT and bite into a mushy carrot it makes me feel like I might rather be dangling by my eyelashes from the nearest maple tree.
posted by Hello Kitty | 7:25 PM
1 Comments:
Crockpots yeah...unless you're phobic about leaving it on when you leave the house, therefore leaving you chained to it all day. Here in a nut shell is my crockpot problem : What if juice drops from the lid and for some unreasonable assumption is so hot it burns the counter, what if something malfunctions in the plug region therefore causing a fire which proceeds to burn down the house I love so much with my beloved kitty inside, for some reason what if I miscalculated the time ( High or Low too many choices ) and the dinner I was so lovingly trying to prepare burns up to a crisp. Oh the possibilities are endless. Therefore I use crockpot...I stay near crockpot. Leaving me chained to the sucker all day. Roasts do come out quite tasty though : ).
TRENT YOU ROCK!
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