One Work Bowl Away From Insanity
Did I really write that I was thinking about more challenging cooking projects that took a bit of work? I must have forgotten my sanity shot that day.
On Friday I tackled a recipe that I knew my husband would love and I didn’t fully grasp what I was getting into until I’d already started and by then it was too late and I didn’t have a plan B so I slogged ahead.
This was a recipe that involved starting something in the food processor and tossing with something chopped and setting aside. Melting something in a saucepan, combining with something else and putting in the fridge. Mixer. Grater. Spatula. Measure 5 spices. Strain. Mix in a big bowl. Scrape into a baking dish.
By the time I was finished I was shrieking “bitch, bitch!” at the woman responsible for the recipe on the folded up piece of paper on the counter in my kitchen.
Still, it was delicious and it did make my dear husband happy.
We need to factor in that I was still sleep deprived and hormonal and frustrated with a situation that I don’t wish to discuss here. I don’t always mind big cooking projects. Timing is key.
On Saturday was the tamales which also destroyed half my kitchen so my mantra upon awakening this morning (through gritted teeth) was: no cooking, no cooking, no cooking.
And that would have been fine except I had a big pot of chicken broth from my tamale chicken and I hate to waste things. So I just threw together some chicken soup and a salad and that’s going to be my dinner.
Bob had tickets to six, I’m sure thrilling, hours of jazz, which he took his mother to. I graciously decided to stay home. (Meaning I didn’t want to go.)
It’s storming right now. I’m going to peek at the Oscars and decide between that and the two chick flicks I have stacked by the TV.