I Burn Shizz

I suck in the kitchen. No, not like that, you perverts. The original title to this post was "I Suck in the Kitchen", but as I wrote, I noticed a different trend.

I am hopeless in the kitchen. Really hopeless.

I remember being 12 and trying my hand at fudge. I knew the instructions said to be exact in timing, and to make sure nothing got burned, but I felt confident. I am quite certain that was the very first and last time I felt confidence in the kitchen.... and in the end both the fudge and my kitchen aspirations were burned into a pile of lumpy grossness.

Okay, in all seriousness, I just set my laptop down to go start my delicious home-made dinner of olive-oil coated baked okra (which actually isn't bad if the okra is fresh, and you don't eff up a simple recipe like the one here), and I placed my laptop down swiftly, directly and without thought, straight into my glass of expensive, organic, not-from-concentrate (hell no!), diluted-with-water, berry juice. It promptly splattered across the beige carpet below.

I cursed. BF helped me clean it up. Thanks BF. I hope we got it all. The lighting in this room is poopy after dark.

So now I should re-state that I suck in the kitchen and I am hopeless in general with food and drink.

Whenever BF suggests we have someone over for dinner I cringe internally because, for me, dinner = FAIL unless it involves dialing, ordering, driving, serving, and throwing out the containers afterward (have I mentioned that I DESPISE doing dishes, too?). When BF suggests this, I also cringe externally, and I think I disappoint him.

One of the most ironic parts of this is that I love to socialize with friends and family (you know, if they return my calls or emails and reply to invitations - SISTER I AM LOOKING AT YOU). But I get paralyzed at the thought of having to make food for other people, because I know the results will be somewhere on the scale from yucky to catastrophic.

When I do try to cook, I turn into an even bigger stressball, and that never starts off a dinner party evening very well, because we all know that BF takes the brunt of the bitchiness. I just know things won't turn out perfectly, and it annoys me and upsets me to no end.

In my youth, I destroyed a microwave trying to make MICROWAVE POPCORN. They mean that shit when they tell you not to leave things unattended. Microwaves especially. And hairdryers.

Much smoke and parental disappointment followed. Who fucks up popcorn that badly? Sure, we've all hoped for a few extra kernel pops, teetered dangerously on the line between a nice, hot, tasty fairly fully popped bag of corn, and the 'damn-i-pushed-it-15-seconds-too-far' result of an entire bag tasting slightly singed. But destroy a microwave? That takes a certain kind of special.

I'm pretty sure even he is disappointed in me.

My okra is as done as it is ever going to be, and as I sit and type, the smoke detector is buzzing its ass off. I've opened the windows, turned on ceiling and exhaust fans, and sit here listening to it chide me about my cooking. It's like the damn thing knows I am recollecting damaging memories involving cooking and smoke from my childhood and it just wants to laugh along.


Before this stupid diet I am on now (not my choice), I had attempted to make toast in the morning. BF was away, and I decided to save time and brush my teeth while it cooked. (No, I am NEVER late for work, why do you ask?).

You know what that resulted in right? An unattended toaster.

Not only did the smoke detector fail to go off, I had a flaming pile of wheat just billowing smoke in the kitchen and hallway. I feared for my dogs. [side note: Then I wondered why they didn't alert me to the impending fire in the kitchen (hey, Lassie would have, right?). Just kidding, Scooby was sleeping and had surely had enough of my shit after 12 years. lol]. I don't know what I did, but I managed to avert major disaster. But the house smelled like burnt toast the entire week that BF was gone.

Now... imagine more smoke. Much, much more smoke. Image copyright.

That cinched it for me. When the lives of my family members hang in the balance because of my ineptitude with microwave popcorn and toast, I think it is time to step away from any kind of heat source. Any heat source and food*.


This can only mean disaster for my future children. Poor, poor, BF.






*Not sure if microwave popcorn really qualifies as food, but still...


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