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I just had a rather interesting phone call.
My husband is in the kitchen and is planning to put something into the often.
My husband? In our kitchen? Using the oven?
It seems the boy was in Safeway just a little bit ago and was in the mood for something sweet. He went to the frozen food aisle, saw an apple pie which was right next to some simply "defrost and eat" baked goods, and decided it looked good. When he got home he found that it had to be baked and not simply defrosted. So dutifully, he called me to find out how long he needed to preheat the oven. I had him read me the directions, and told him that there was a clean baking sheet next to the sink, to put the tie on before putting it into the oven.
"That's a baking sheet? I was going to use one of those ceramic things."
"Ceramic things?"
"You know, the ones that live on the bottom shelf of the oven."
"Sweetheart, those are pizza stones. You use those to bake a crusty loaf of bread or make a pizza. Besides, the pizza stones don't have a lip on them and so anything that leaks out of the pie, will end up on the floor of the oven."
"Pies leak?"
"Usually Sweetheart."
"Wow, I never knew that!"
Those of you who do not know my husband, are likely unaware that the man simply does not know how to cook. Many years ago when he was living in Washington, he literally melted a pot onto the stove. It takes a very special kind of non-cook, who goes to boil water and manages to scorch the pot. The kitchen has been my domain for the last 27 years. Other than making coffee in the morning, or putting a ready to make meal in the microwave, LJ stays out of the kitchen.
An infection in my left arm landed me in the hospital 10 years ago. After almost 3 weeks out of the house, on my first night home, my husband announces he's making dinner. My eyebrows raised.
"And what pray tell are we having for dinner tonight," I inquired.
"Pasta." What could he possibly do the pasta I thought. You open the package, drop the pasta in some boiling water, and when it's done, dress it in a jar of sauce. It seemed safe enough.
Silly me.
Have you ever had pasta in a peanut sauce? Asians do it all the time. However, it's generally not in a tomato base. He'd opened a jar of Ragu basil and garlic tomato sauce and decided to blend in a cup of chunky peanut butter. When I sat down to table the scent of peanuts and tomatoes were unmistakable. I figured it would be an interesting experiment, so I dug in. The first bite was extraordinarily salty. Thinking that he hadn't stirred the sauce well, I made polite dinner conversation, while subtly moving the pasta around my plate with my fork. I took another bite and much to my sadness, I'd been right. He hadn't stirred it well. Now that I had, it was worse. My husband had heard that you're supposed to add a little sugar to tomato sauce to cut the acidity. Dutifully, he had added 1/4 cup of what he thought was sugar.
It was then that I understood why we had no birds at the hummingbird feeder.
I think I need to head for home now before he burns down the house.
My husband is in the kitchen and is planning to put something into the often.
My husband? In our kitchen? Using the oven?
It seems the boy was in Safeway just a little bit ago and was in the mood for something sweet. He went to the frozen food aisle, saw an apple pie which was right next to some simply "defrost and eat" baked goods, and decided it looked good. When he got home he found that it had to be baked and not simply defrosted. So dutifully, he called me to find out how long he needed to preheat the oven. I had him read me the directions, and told him that there was a clean baking sheet next to the sink, to put the tie on before putting it into the oven.
"That's a baking sheet? I was going to use one of those ceramic things."
"Ceramic things?"
"You know, the ones that live on the bottom shelf of the oven."
"Sweetheart, those are pizza stones. You use those to bake a crusty loaf of bread or make a pizza. Besides, the pizza stones don't have a lip on them and so anything that leaks out of the pie, will end up on the floor of the oven."
"Pies leak?"
"Usually Sweetheart."
"Wow, I never knew that!"
Those of you who do not know my husband, are likely unaware that the man simply does not know how to cook. Many years ago when he was living in Washington, he literally melted a pot onto the stove. It takes a very special kind of non-cook, who goes to boil water and manages to scorch the pot. The kitchen has been my domain for the last 27 years. Other than making coffee in the morning, or putting a ready to make meal in the microwave, LJ stays out of the kitchen.
An infection in my left arm landed me in the hospital 10 years ago. After almost 3 weeks out of the house, on my first night home, my husband announces he's making dinner. My eyebrows raised.
"And what pray tell are we having for dinner tonight," I inquired.
"Pasta." What could he possibly do the pasta I thought. You open the package, drop the pasta in some boiling water, and when it's done, dress it in a jar of sauce. It seemed safe enough.
Silly me.
Have you ever had pasta in a peanut sauce? Asians do it all the time. However, it's generally not in a tomato base. He'd opened a jar of Ragu basil and garlic tomato sauce and decided to blend in a cup of chunky peanut butter. When I sat down to table the scent of peanuts and tomatoes were unmistakable. I figured it would be an interesting experiment, so I dug in. The first bite was extraordinarily salty. Thinking that he hadn't stirred the sauce well, I made polite dinner conversation, while subtly moving the pasta around my plate with my fork. I took another bite and much to my sadness, I'd been right. He hadn't stirred it well. Now that I had, it was worse. My husband had heard that you're supposed to add a little sugar to tomato sauce to cut the acidity. Dutifully, he had added 1/4 cup of what he thought was sugar.
It was then that I understood why we had no birds at the hummingbird feeder.
I think I need to head for home now before he burns down the house.
