I caught fire in the kitchen

blue flame on gas hot plateSo I’m a kitchen disaster. It’s not my fault that my kitchen hates me!  Some old crone must have cursed it. If the old adage is true that you can win a man’s heart through his stomach – mine would have run for the hills years ago, or be dead by now. Which would have saved him from the next few decades of culinary mayhem.

I’ve cooked a sausage casserole that looked so X-rated that my boys refused to eat it, and when I posted the photo of it on social media, Facebook reminded me not topromote sexual enhancement products as it was against their policy.  I’ve cooked a lemon meringue pie that tasted like ear wax, gingerbread men that my children spat over the back fence to the neighbour’s dog which fed the mutt for years, and steaks that damaged teeth and fattened up the dentist’s wallet!  And that’s just to name a few.

Unfortunately I’ve also started two fires in my home. I wish I could say I haven’t caused psychological and emotional fear in my husband and boys {sigh}, but that would be a lie.

The first fire I started was when making a cup of tea for my husband with our new kettle that sat on the gas hotplates. The water had boiled and the kettle was whistling away its new tune.  I reached over to pick up the kettle – but didn’t turn the flame off.  My not-so-sexy too-big flannelette pyjamas had dangly sleeves that touched the flame.  I watched a pretty blue flame jump onto my arm and I was hypnotically mesmerised as I stared at the flame running up the length of my sleeve to my shoulder. Then I realised I was on fire! I screamed and Husband came running into the kitchen.  I did the “drop and roll” manoeuvre in an attempt to put myself out.

He found me horizontal on the cold tiled floor, thrashing around, flapping my hands all over my body. He couldn’t see the flames, just heard me screaming that I was on fire!   He just stood there, wondering what the hell I was doing with a perplexed eyebrow look.  He thought I was doing some sort of german-zombie slap-dance. “Why didn’t you help me” I squawked?  He was stunned silent.  Obviously I impressed him with my Australia’s-Got-Talent kitchen performance.

I put myself out and noticed that my floral pyjamas had brown patches up the sleeve where the fire had caught.

Husband looked at me and just rolled his boggle eyes.

The 2nd fire was because I didn’t know I was supposed to pierce sausage skins before I cooked them. (Oh no, bleedin’ sausages again – no wonder he’s banned me for life from ever cooking them.) Anyway, I put sausages under our grill and turned it onto high.  Part way through the cook I could hear a “whooshing” and “sizzling” sound, so I bent and peeked inside the grill.  It was so pretty!  My sausages were bulging as they heated up, they swelled and then the top burst like a balloon and an arrow of fat squirted straight up onto the electric elements.  I kept watching – then the fat caught on fire! Oh hell – the grill was on fire! I screamed, and Husband ran in and saved the day.

Husband looked at me, didn’t say a word, and rolled his eyes. Again.  If he rolls his barney-googles at me one more time I will poke the bloody brown orbs out with an ice-pick!

At least the house didn’t burn down. He could have at least been grateful for that small miracle.

© 2015 CEW

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Why do they laugh at my cooking?

Shrek screamingI’m not ashamed to admit that I have the – occasional – cooking mishap.  I should just NOT cook food.  EVER.  End of story.

Son:     Mmmm.  Mum, you should taste Karen’s cup-cakes! Nom Nom Nom
Me:      God didn’t bless all Mum’s with the good cooking gene love. {I sound wise}
Son:     Oh… I know that!
Me:      What do you mean – you know that? {What the?}
Son:     Remember when we were little and you made us gingerbread men?
Me:      Yes.  {I slaved over the bleedin’ oven for hours making those.}
Son:     Well, every time you made them, we spat them over the back fence to the neighbour’s dog.
Me:      WHAT??  I thought you liked them so I kept making them.
Son:     We didn’t.  And we had to keep spitting them over the back fence!

Little shites.

Then there’s the saga of my infamous … Lemon Meringue Pie.

Square pastry in a round pie tinIf I really was wise, I would have given up at the beginning of my attempt when I tried putting square pastry into a round tin.  But clever me found a way!  See?

It went downhill from there though.  I made the yellow-lemony-filling bit but must have done something wrong.  The boys were hysterical after tasting it.  Where oh where have I gone wrong this time? I tasted it myself.  I tried to pretend it tasted nice but my face screwed up and one eye automatically squinted closed on its own like a stink-eye, the hair on the back of my neck quivered and my toes curled backwards. But wait!  I know this taste … but I can’t quite pick where I’ve tasted it before.  I pretend the lemony-filling tastes delicious to protect my pride.  Maybe I can convince my boys to give it a go.  “That’s actually REALLY delicious” I pronounce deceptively.  They laugh louder.

Me:       Who wants to lick the bowl?
Boys:   Bahahaha!

I have an epiphany … I recall where I’ve tasted this sour flavour before!  If you want to know what my lemon meringue pie tasted like, follow these instructions carefully {you can do this while you are reading this post, so stay seated}:
1.  Lift up your right hand
2.  Point your finger in the air
3.  Turn your hand so your finger is now pointing towards your head
4.  Push said finger deep into your ear canal up to the 1st knuckle
5.  Turn finger to the left and right and dig in deep, making sure you snag a warm and claggy globule of ear wax
6.  Wipe ear wax on your taste buds and enjoy!

Yep, that’s what my lemon meringue pie tasted like.

After a short investigation of my recipe and methods, I decided it must be my lemon tree!  I picked some lemons off the tree and went to the garden centre where I bought the damn tree.

I said to the customer service officer, handing her one of my lemons “Excuse me, what do you call this?”  She looked at me as if I was simple. “A lemon.”   “NO, it looks like a lemon, but it tastes like ear wax!”  She called over a few of the “experts”.  They got a knife, cut it in half, and inspected the alleged lemon.  They all said … “It’s a lemon”.

I demanded “It’s NOT a lemon. Taste it!”   To shut me up, the three of them cut a small wedge out and popped it into their mouths.  I wore an “I told you so face” as I watched all of their faces contort.  “What the hell is that?” one of them exclaimed.

“I’ll tell you what it is … it’s Shrek’s bloody ear wax!” I said.

We ripped the tree out of the ground and planted a new dwarf lemon tree the following week.

To read about my disastrous sausage casserole, go to The sausage casserole that was banned for life“.

© 2015 CEW

Originally posted on my old blog site