I think I should start a new blog: Cooking Adventures, by the Girl Who Bought “How to Boil Water.”
Here’s my philosophy on cooking:
… where’s the nearest Taco Villa?
Feeding myself in the land sans Taco Villa has been a bit of an issue. Last year I survived on a small meal plan, skillet dinners, Greg, and Sonic. Of those four, I’m down to only skillet dinners. While yummy, they get old.
So Rachel took me to the bookstore where I bought the delightful cookbook How to Boil Water. The premise of the book is to tell you everything you need to make a meal: shopping lists, how to chop vegetables, tools you’ll need, and step-by-step instructions on various cooking techniques. I later realized some of these meals, nay, most, were more labor-intensive than I cared for, so I went to Half Price and bought me a slow cooker cookbook, courtesy of Greg’s parents (could that sentence possibly have had more commas?).
Things went fairly smoothly at first. Bread in the crock pot (successful bread-making just sounds awesome, like being able to use “quantum dot” in a sentence – a topic for another post). Honey-curry chicken in the crock pot. Bread that came out of the crock pot.
They started to go downhill when I tried to cook chicken. Frozen chicken. Surely, I thought, you can break the pieces apart and defrost them individually. Wrong. Well, surely, I thought, it won’t take too long too defrost them all in the sink. Wrong. Exit a hungry and grumpy Meaghan.
Then, there was last week.
I tried to do well, I really did. I selected meals in advance. I made a list. I hunted for strange ingredients (fresh dill? you mean not mixed with pickles?). I wrapped the chicken pieces individually before freezing (as per How to Boil Water). I came home early and defrosted and marinated and started to broil, whatever that means. (Thanks, How to Boil Water, for not explaining that one).
As I was merrily doing homework, expecting delicious dinner shortly, a loud beeeeeeep drove my roommate and me from our rooms. Welp, I thought, I’ve finally done it. The fire department’s coming for my cooking.
We turned on the hood, opened the doors and windows, and waited in embarrassment for someone to come for me. Thankfully, the beeping stopped and no one came. But still.
And the chicken wasn’t even that good!
I emailed the maintenance guy and we got the faulty, smoking burner replaced. I found out this morning when G’s tea kettle and the fire alarm got me up for class that we have multiple burners that smoke.
Tonight, despite all setbacks, I resolutely and nobly continued in my quest and cooked.
Mmmm. This cooking thing may be worth it after all.