Anyone who knows me knows that my cooking skills are…ummm…rudimentary at best. Generally if all it needs is boiled, nuked, or reheated, I’m your gal. But if more skill than that is necessary, you *might* want to consider taking me out to dinner. For your own good, of course.
Honestly, we do try to eat pretty healthfully here at Casa Barnard. Lots of organic, mostly veggie, pretty simple meals. But then again, with just 2 of us most of the time, there’s a lot of take out too. Usually a safe bet. Spouse is grateful, I’m pretty sure.
But tonight, with only a short treadmill run on the schedule, I figured I would whip up a little dinner. Boil some frozen ravioli, sling up a little salad, good to go. Just like real folks. How hard could it be? Yeah, well…you might be surprised.
Let me lead with the fact that the smoke alarm going off in our house when I’m “cooking” is nothing new. It’s placement VERY NEAR THE STOVE is stupid (disclaimer: we didn’t put it there, it was there when we moved in) so it goes off almost every time anything is being fried, sauteed, or scrambled and raises the tiniest bit of legit smoke. But today was a first. Today I actually set the smoke alarm off while…wait for it….BOILING WATER!!! Yep, please be proud that you know me. The scene went down kinda like this:
I put a pot of water on to boil for the ravioli then headed to the sunroom for a couple of miles on the treadmill while the water heated up. (See what an efficient multitasker I am?) A little while later the sunroom door opens and Spouse pops his head in and and asks if I can hear the smoke alarm going off. Oops, nope…thought it was part of the DMB song on the Pandora station I was listening to. Baffled as to why it would be blaring, I stopped the treadmill and headed to the kitchen to find that yep, the pot of boiling water had indeed set off the smoke alarm. Water. Plain old city water. Kinda makes you wonder exactly what’s in the stuff.
So he disabled the alarm (good thing he’s tall), I added more water, and finished my run. All’s well that ends well, and we did finally end up with an edible dinner. Wonder where my cooking gene ended up anyway?