Wednesday, January 2, 2019
Today I am grateful that 2018 went bye-bye. Enuff already! But it certainly didn’t go gently into that dark, rainy night without a kitchen incident. . .or two.
We generally prefer staying home on New Year’s Eve. If we do anything at all, we go to a friend’s house, or they come to ours, but since so many rooky drinkers are on the road that night, I prefer staying home.
This year we splurged and bought not only a couple of small filet mignon steaks, but also the smallest package of jumbo crab legs that was on sale. Surf & Turf, baby. We had to file another mortgage on the house, but who cares. It was still cheaper than dinner out. To that we added a salad, rolls and our favorites, double-stuffed baked potatoes. Yummy!
We had a pre-recorded, classic film noir movie lined up for our entertainment so we were all set for a nearly perfect evening, even if we were fairly certain we wouldn’t see the New Year arrive until morning. . . or the usual pee trip at 2 a.m. Happy New Year!
I made the double-stuffs, tasting them to be sure they were good. (That’s my story.) They were fantastic! I stuck them in the oven at the exact right time, set the timer and put the rolls in at the exact time. I steamed the crab legs at the exact right time and had the drawn butter almost melted in the microwave. Then I sautéed the steak in butter at the exact right time. Everything would be perfect.
When the timer rang I asked Himself to take out the rolls. No problem. Everything else was done. All I had to do was take out the double-stuffs and we would be eating shortly. I tip the timer on the microwave to reheat the butter for the crab and grab a couple of pot holder mitts that were laying on the counter. I reach into the hot oven and grab the tray with the spuds. I had them half way out of the oven when a piercing, searing heat hit my hand through the WET oven mitt. I screamed in pain and flipped the entire tray of potatoes, sour cream topping and all, upside down, not all the way inside the oven, nor only on the door, but right in that spot where the door opens. What a frigging mess! “Goodness gracious, I’m upset.” I did NOT say that!
I wasn’t burned badly on my hand, but my heart was pure lava from the almost lost potatoes! Shows you where my priorities are. Himself was trying to be supportive, but when your wife is a raging lunatic and your favorite meal is in jeopardy, it’s hard to know which direction to take. “Are you okay?” he asked, first. Good man. I screamed that the potatoes were ruined. He said he didn’t care about the potatoes. Really? That’s ALL I cared about. Burn off my hand, but leave the potatoes! It’s the German version of “leave the gun, take the canolli.”
Moving as fast as I could I gingerly scooped the upside down, sour-cream-potato-chive mess onto a different tray. One that was cool. They were somewhat salvaged. Himself likes to eat when the food is hot (not the wife) so I barely cleaned up any of the napalmed mess until after the movie was over. It wasn’t pretty and took us an hour to make it bearable. Eventually we’ll have to set the oven to automatically clean up the rest and hope for the best.
Great way to leave 2018, I thought. I’m ready for a new year! This is past us. Then the next morning I open the microwave where I had melted the butter the night before. It looked like a volcanic explosion from a pissed off cow. I was so mad when I took the butter out the night before I never noticed that it had exploded all over creation. Greasy rivers were no longer dripping, but stuck tight to the entire insides. Swell. It took me an hour to get it clean so I could boil my tea water. Since the incident occurred in 2018, I figure there is still hope for the New Year.
Staying home on New Year’s Eve might be our tradition, but maybe next year we’ll go out. I can’t take the stress! Or get take-out instead of cook-in. Bye-bye 2018! Hello 2019! Don’t piss me off!