Bitchin in the Kitchen

You know you're a bad cook when friends' e-mails begin with "burned anything lately?"- And they are serious. Let's just say, if I'm in the kitchen-- windows should be open and a take-out menu on hand.

I boil vegetables, but forget to add water.  Of course, this has a domino effect.
The pan burned, so I whisked it off the stove, set it on a glass cutting board, and shatter the board into a million pieces.
It gets better --
I then dumped the pan into the sink and poured cold water over it. The bottom of the pan literally broke off. My husband informed me I had burned the pan too many times. I didn't contradict him.

Then there is the time I cooked with Metamucil.  Seriously.
I needed to add chicken broth to a recipe.  I couldn't understand why the cubes of broth were in powder form or not in individual packets. However, I gamely estimated the necessary amount to be added.  Later, I mentioned the chicken broth consistency to my husband, who deduced the problem. My father had recently visited us and while traveling, he stores his Metamucil in--you guessed it--a container of chicken broth!  Hey, a high fiber diet is good for you, right?

I cooked an oven roast chicken and realized I had cooked it upside down. Apparently, there is a thermometer that is supposed to pop when it is done. My husband asked me where the bag of giblets was. What giblets? Apparently, I'm supposed to put my hand inside the chicken and pull out a bag filled with his innards?  No wonder I don't like to cook.

Cooking Disaster 101 tips:

Don't microwave chocolate to melt it.  Those are not Oreos in the bowl. This white chocolate became burned charcoal.

Don't store potatoes somewhere that you will forget about them. They look like prunes and after my Metamucil fiasco, I can't take any chances.

Last but not least, take off the cellophane wrapper from your ham before baking it. I think I got distracted on that one and forgot about it.  Even I know enough to do that....usually.

I blame my mother whose meals evolved around the cocktail hour, which consisted of stale Saltines, cheddar cheese, and champagne.  I kid you not.  But that story is for a whole another blog...