Do you ever have days when everything you create in the kitchen is a disaster?
Now, I'm the first to admit that I'm not an inspired cook. I'm no Julia Child. But I can cook basic meals, and sometimes very tasty, healthy meals. Two nights ago, I made a lovely kale salad with grape tomatoes, parmesan, a boiled egg, pecans and balsamic. Yum.
But in the last 48 hours, I've experienced what I call a Don't-Go-in-the-Kitchen Day.
I burned toast to a crispy, unappetizing charcoal. I spread a tiny bit of butter on it, then sprinkled it liberally with cinnamon and Stevia.
At lunchtime yesterday, I turned my back for just a smidge--and my lovely grilled cheese sandwich became a charcoal sandwich. I scraped off the worst of the charcoal and ate it. It was my last two pieces of bread.
This morning, I burned my oatmeal. Not just a little scorched, but really, truly burned so that a thick coating of burned gunk is stuck in the bottom of the pot. But I ate it. Growing up, we ate what was put in front of us. Mostly. We didn't throw out food. So, in the last 48 hours I've eaten burned toast, burned grilled cheese and burnt oatmeal. Yum! And I'd made two servings of burnt oatmeal, so guess what I'm having for breakfast tomorrow?
Tonight I baked a potato (success) and topped it with steamed broccoli and grated cheese. Yum! I planned to top it with some of my homemade turkey chili I'd pulled out of the freezer. But I turned my back for just a smidge to slice some sharp cheddar--and my knife blade broke off from the handle, I forgot momentarily about the chili--and--you guessed it! I burned the chili. I did NOT eat the burned chili. All of the liquid had been reduced out of it and it no longer can be called chili.
Perhaps a new world record of Simultaneous Kitchen Disasters for me: Broken knife blade, burned chili. At least I didn't accidentally cut myself, which would have been a trifecta of disasters.
Now, in my sink in my tiny 6 x 6 kitchen I have a two pots coated in burnt gunk waiting to be scrubbed clean. And a broken knife. And some other dishes. I don't have a dishwasher, and I just don't have the energy to tackle it tonight. I'm going to let the crusty pots soak overnight.
Tomorrow, I'll scour them with my secret weapon: vinegar and baking soda and a bristly green scouring pad. This isn't my first burnt-pot rodeo. (Warning: I've just read an article that burnt food can contain carcinogens.)
Today I count these kitchen successes:
1. I made coffee. Nothing exploded.
2. I cut up an apple, saving half for tomorrow. No disasters there.
3. I peeled a boiled egg without incident.
4. I steamed broccoli in the microwave. (I can't take credit for shredding the cheese. I buy shredded cheese because I have a tendency to shred my fingers).
I'm going to call it a day. I'll make a cuppa peppermint tea and climb into bed and read.
I think I'll turn on Netflix and catch an episode of the Great British Baking Show, Holiday Edition. Last night I watched Caramel Week. Some of the bakers made extraordinary creations. Others had disasters. Their own version of Don't-Go-in-the-Kitchen Day.
I guess it happens to everyone. Perhaps even to that smug Paul Hollywood.