I made dinner tonight. First let me state, right now at the beginning, that no one (else) got hurt or sick. Also, The only thing that got burned was my thumb.
To those of you who are new to the blog, I am not the primary cook in this house and everyone is grateful. Except My Honey, but he also knows that he’s way better at it than me. When I make dinner, you can almost guarantee that something will go wrong. I swear to Zeus I don’t do it on purpose.
Take for example the last time I made a chicken pot pie.
That’s one of the few things I make well. Pie. I’m good at pie. It’s probably because it’s dessert and I LOVE dessert. Somehow or another that transfers over to a savory pot pie.
Last time I made it from scratch just like I always do. I roasted the chicken, made the roux, latticed up the crust. I pulled the glass pie pan from the oven and left it on top of the stove to set and cool a bit while I set the table. It was gorgeous.
I had just set the plates on the table when there was an explosion in the kitchen. I assumed the dogs. Dogs are trouble – especially when they’re tall. Roscoe the Wonder Mutt is a leggy bloodhound who can easily grab things off the counter. I ran to the kitchen but it wasn’t the dogs. It wasn’t even a curious cat.
I had inadvertently set the glass pie pan on a hot burner and it exploded in a million pieces splattering my beautiful pot pie over every inch of the kitchen. It took forever to get it out of all the burners. And off the ceiling. And the cabinets.
I was too furious to cry. I remember we had spaghetti instead. I love spaghetti but it’s no homemade pot pie.
Regardless, I committed to doing it again. Chicken had been on sale at the grocery and we’d stocked up the deep freeze.
I made 100% certain that the burners were all off on the stove. It turned out perfect. This story has no punchline and that’s a damn good thing.