I’m tempted to give up on rectifying my passion for not cooking. Yesterday, at 7:15 p.m. EST, I attempted beef stir-fry, a harmless recipe. Brown the meat. Throw in some sauce. Toss in vegetables. Cook some rice. Done. And, harmless. Harmless until you drop the actual recipe on a turned-on burner and then turn away for three seconds.
My poor recipe. Perhaps I should turn my cooking attentions elsewhere. Or spend more time practicing with non-flameable cookware. I should probably sign up for lessons with my two-year-old nephew. He’s pretty good with his Little Tyke kitchen set. Prepares all sorts of “delicious” meals.
If I turned to more kid-friendly kitchen appliances, I wouldn’t have to worry about leaving units on, burning body parts (or apartment parts) AND I’d put in some quality time with my nephews. Actually, I bet my nephews would show me up in a real kitchen. Even the two-year-old. Darn.
In my defense, the apartment did NOT burn down, and the dish ended up turning out a-OK. After I was prompted to add the spices. And the soy sauce. And actually make the rice.
Perhaps cooking is meant to be my spectator sport?