Second Verse: A Little Bit Louder and a Little Bit Worse!*
Written Wednesday, August 5th, 2009.
On Wednesday evening, I filled a jar with dried chickpeas and water and set it in the fridge. I told J., "I'm going to make hummus tomorrow."
The next evening, I pulled out the jar of soaked chickpeas, poured them in a pot on the stove, and turned on the heat. The recipe said they have to simmer forty minutes or so for them to get mushy enough for hummus. I set up camp with a book at the counter and kept an eye on it to raise the pot lid whenever it started boiling over.
At one point, J. came in the kitchen, inspected the chickpeas, and asked, "When's the hummus?"
It took forever, and I wondered whether making hummus from fresh chickpeas was really worth the extra time and labor, but finally they were pretty soft. I chopped my fresh garlic and set my other ingredients on the counter. I spooned some hot chickpeas and garlic into the food processor, set the lid on, and pushed the button.
The chickpeas fogged up the plastic sides of the container. Whole chickpeas that were definitely not getting mushified.
I thought maybe a couple of the chickpeas had gotten stuck under the blade, preventing the motor from fitting properly on top of the blade. I poured all the chickpeas and garlic into a nearby bowl and adjusted the blade. Poured the chickpeas and garlic back in the container. Still didn't work. Poured them back out and fiddled with it some more.
Finally, J. came in the kitchen as I, overheated, dumped the chickpeas once more into the bowl. I asked him what was wrong with his food processor. Was the plug not fitting into the wall properly? I couldn't seem to get the top to fit correctly on the blade. Could he try?
"Oh, it broke a couple weeks ago," he said casually.
Excuse me? "What's wrong with it?" I asked crossly.
"I don't know. You gave it to me for Christmas. You tell me," he said.
Ooo, and he got mad that I was mad at him for the rest of the evening. Turns out the stupid thing had a short in it. I didn't pay a ton for it, but I'd done some research and this was supposed to be the best, most durable, and most effective small food processor for its size. I was so mad that it had a short somewhere in the motor where I couldn't take it apart and fix it.
And it goes without saying that I was mad that J. hadn't thought to mention it wasn't working when I told him the day before I was going to make hummus and earlier when I was cooking the chickpeas.
I had to mush the stupid things with a potato masher, and it didn't really work because the skins didn't get ground up and there were still lumps. I had lumpy hummus again. The one good thing was I discovered that lime juice--I didn't have any lemon--gives it a sweeter flavor and cuts out some of that bitterness I taste in hummus at restaurants. I'm not sure when the next hummus experiment will occur since I have to buy or borrow another food processor before I can try. Or find the blender.
*This chant comes from the end of a repetition song my cousin taught me when we were little:
I'm a little hunk of tin
Nobody knows where I have been
I got four wheels and a running board
I'm a four-door
I'm a Ford.
Honk honk, rattle rattle rattle, crash, beep beep (repeat 3 more times)
(Spoken) __insert number__ verse, same as the first
A little bit louder and a little bit worse
(repeat from beginning a little bit louder and more obnoxious each time)
Amusingly, I always sang "sliding door" or "running door" instead of "running board." I had no idea what a running board was and often substituted a word I did know even though it didn't make sense either.
On Wednesday evening, I filled a jar with dried chickpeas and water and set it in the fridge. I told J., "I'm going to make hummus tomorrow."
The next evening, I pulled out the jar of soaked chickpeas, poured them in a pot on the stove, and turned on the heat. The recipe said they have to simmer forty minutes or so for them to get mushy enough for hummus. I set up camp with a book at the counter and kept an eye on it to raise the pot lid whenever it started boiling over.
At one point, J. came in the kitchen, inspected the chickpeas, and asked, "When's the hummus?"
It took forever, and I wondered whether making hummus from fresh chickpeas was really worth the extra time and labor, but finally they were pretty soft. I chopped my fresh garlic and set my other ingredients on the counter. I spooned some hot chickpeas and garlic into the food processor, set the lid on, and pushed the button.
The chickpeas fogged up the plastic sides of the container. Whole chickpeas that were definitely not getting mushified.
I thought maybe a couple of the chickpeas had gotten stuck under the blade, preventing the motor from fitting properly on top of the blade. I poured all the chickpeas and garlic into a nearby bowl and adjusted the blade. Poured the chickpeas and garlic back in the container. Still didn't work. Poured them back out and fiddled with it some more.
Finally, J. came in the kitchen as I, overheated, dumped the chickpeas once more into the bowl. I asked him what was wrong with his food processor. Was the plug not fitting into the wall properly? I couldn't seem to get the top to fit correctly on the blade. Could he try?
"Oh, it broke a couple weeks ago," he said casually.
Excuse me? "What's wrong with it?" I asked crossly.
"I don't know. You gave it to me for Christmas. You tell me," he said.
Ooo, and he got mad that I was mad at him for the rest of the evening. Turns out the stupid thing had a short in it. I didn't pay a ton for it, but I'd done some research and this was supposed to be the best, most durable, and most effective small food processor for its size. I was so mad that it had a short somewhere in the motor where I couldn't take it apart and fix it.
And it goes without saying that I was mad that J. hadn't thought to mention it wasn't working when I told him the day before I was going to make hummus and earlier when I was cooking the chickpeas.
I had to mush the stupid things with a potato masher, and it didn't really work because the skins didn't get ground up and there were still lumps. I had lumpy hummus again. The one good thing was I discovered that lime juice--I didn't have any lemon--gives it a sweeter flavor and cuts out some of that bitterness I taste in hummus at restaurants. I'm not sure when the next hummus experiment will occur since I have to buy or borrow another food processor before I can try. Or find the blender.
*This chant comes from the end of a repetition song my cousin taught me when we were little:
I'm a little hunk of tin
Nobody knows where I have been
I got four wheels and a running board
I'm a four-door
I'm a Ford.
Honk honk, rattle rattle rattle, crash, beep beep (repeat 3 more times)
(Spoken) __insert number__ verse, same as the first
A little bit louder and a little bit worse
(repeat from beginning a little bit louder and more obnoxious each time)
Amusingly, I always sang "sliding door" or "running door" instead of "running board." I had no idea what a running board was and often substituted a word I did know even though it didn't make sense either.