Thursday, December 3, 2009
I'm sitting here watching the finale of Top Chef and eating a bag of potato chips. And for those of you interested, the chips are plain but salty.
I love cooking shows but I don't cook for the most part. I bake occasionally or throw together a homemade pizza but making a meal? Not so much. It's not that I can't cook, I can, but it's my constitutional right not to.
What's super funny is that I spent two hours last night cooking for the dogs. Is that not sad? Truly it is. The BlackDog, the old smelly one, is having stomach issues and she is on a salt-free, low-fat diet. Yeah, I know, my dog is has better health care than you. Me as well.
The first thing to figure out when cooking at my house is what to cook in. I don't have a single pot. No, I really don't, not even under the sink. I do have four pizza pans and three bake dishes. And, of course, one small cast iron skillet. I'm required by my genetic roots to own a cast iron skillet even if I don't cook much in it. I keep it oiled and ready, just in case I decided to make fried potatoes.
You never know. I could get a potato craving.
So I bought a foil turkey pan for three dollars at the grocery store. Threw in some cheap, discounted chicken legs and some water. Turned the knob on the stove and stopped when I felt lucky. What? You think the dog will complain if it's tough? Doubt it.
I roasted/boiled the legs in the oven for what seemed forever. When it seemed done and I had a nice chicken stock (which is cooked chicken juice to all of you non-cooks like me), I poured in the rice. I put it back in the oven and waited for the end to come.
It took forever. Well, maybe another half an hour, seemed like forever. The chicken is done, the rice seems done enough. Can you ruin rice for a dog? Dunno.
I poured in the cut green beans. Not the french cut beans, no dog likes french cut, you can't pick them up. I let the green beans warm in the oven a bit. I told you, I don't have a pot. Oven or nothing.
I ease out the big tub of food and burn the tops of both hands.
I sit it on the stove, forgetting I flipped on the burner a few minutes earlier before I realized I had nothing cook green beans in. The turkey pan is not equipped for the stove, did you know that? Me either. Let's say the smell was horrendous. There was smoke, the fire alarm went nuts, the burner caught fire.
I'm out of flour too. Finally I settled for throwing a plate over it and hoping for the best. I lived and the house is still here. BUT I spent the next two hours beating on the fire alarm, it was stuck on again. I hate that bloody thing. Another reason never to cook.
So fire out, food done, most of the smoke is gone.
I scrape the chicken from the bones and mix it back in.
I plate it up for the dogs and served it.
The three dogs sniffed the plates, looked at each other, then checked out each other's dishes. No one ate anything. Grrrrrrrrrrr.
I pick up a plate and start waddling after the dog, holding under BlackDog's nose to try to entice her. I got growled at. My other two dogs hid.
Oh bloody hell.
I drop the plates in the floor and beat on the fire alarm a bit more. The dogs creep up to the food. Sniff, sniff, sniff. It's not poisoned. At least not on purpose.
Henry Dog eats only the big pieces of chicken.
Tirzah Dog eats only the super tiny chicken pieces.
BlackDog finally eats! But only the green beans. Darn her!
I have three pounds of chicken scented rice now that no one will eat.
I forgot to eat.
Anyone for Chinese?