There is a god of carrots, and he hates me.
Clearly, the Universe has decreed that I shall never make roasted carrot soup.
The carrot juice that I bought for the last disaster attempt, where I spilled all the lovely roasted carrots down the sink, expires on 12/11, so I decided to try again. It started off perfectly. My little roasting pan just holds 1 lb of carrot chunks, and we had just enough olive oil to coat them. I spent the next hour roasting them to a perfect golden brown.
Remembering how tippy the stick blender carafe was, I opted to use the squat, wide-bottomed mini food processor. Rather than work anywhere near the sink, I carried everything oh-so-carefully to the kitchen table. Rather than try to pour the carrots from the pan into the bowl and risk spillage, I moved each chunk over with a fork.
Then I picked up the chopping mat full of onions, and knocked all the carrots onto the floor.
Sigh.
The carrot juice that I bought for the last disaster attempt, where I spilled all the lovely roasted carrots down the sink, expires on 12/11, so I decided to try again. It started off perfectly. My little roasting pan just holds 1 lb of carrot chunks, and we had just enough olive oil to coat them. I spent the next hour roasting them to a perfect golden brown.
Remembering how tippy the stick blender carafe was, I opted to use the squat, wide-bottomed mini food processor. Rather than work anywhere near the sink, I carried everything oh-so-carefully to the kitchen table. Rather than try to pour the carrots from the pan into the bowl and risk spillage, I moved each chunk over with a fork.
Then I picked up the chopping mat full of onions, and knocked all the carrots onto the floor.
Sigh.