(no subject)
So after a prolonged struggle in the kitchen I made myself dinner tonight. It was chicken broccoli pasta. I accidentally set a kitchen towel afire.
Herein lies the problem:
For a long time I hated the thought of 50's housewives ... Women of Betty Friedman's generation, how I languished in pity and hunger for you. While definitely not a vegetarian, raw meat makes me queasy. I always manage to cut my fingers when slicing vegetables. The pasta never seems to land all in the pan, at least 1/4 of the bag usually goes clattering all over the floor. Spices are mysterious and scary. So then you can imagine what a convenience it was for me to boycott the kitchen altogether under the bold banner of anti-domestic-reduction.
The revelation:
While still filled with rage at the thought of anyone being misguided enough to scrape the interior of an oven with q-tips while wearing high heels, I realized while swearing and waving a flaming towel around my head, little pieces of towel charcoal floating into my pan, that I may, in fact, have been a bit misguided as well.
However:
I bought a plethora of sandwich ingredients last week and can now make a superior sandwich (scott attest!) and -- despite the dubious process -- I did make edible pasta tonight. These are steps! After a few more skirmishes with my kitchen appliances, I shall don my apron of justice and wield my spatula of power and burst into the kitchen fortress of domestic independence! hehehe, a little too far with the metaphor, I know. I do enjoy the spatulas though :D
Herein lies the problem:
For a long time I hated the thought of 50's housewives ... Women of Betty Friedman's generation, how I languished in pity and hunger for you. While definitely not a vegetarian, raw meat makes me queasy. I always manage to cut my fingers when slicing vegetables. The pasta never seems to land all in the pan, at least 1/4 of the bag usually goes clattering all over the floor. Spices are mysterious and scary. So then you can imagine what a convenience it was for me to boycott the kitchen altogether under the bold banner of anti-domestic-reduction.
The revelation:
While still filled with rage at the thought of anyone being misguided enough to scrape the interior of an oven with q-tips while wearing high heels, I realized while swearing and waving a flaming towel around my head, little pieces of towel charcoal floating into my pan, that I may, in fact, have been a bit misguided as well.
However:
I bought a plethora of sandwich ingredients last week and can now make a superior sandwich (scott attest!) and -- despite the dubious process -- I did make edible pasta tonight. These are steps! After a few more skirmishes with my kitchen appliances, I shall don my apron of justice and wield my spatula of power and burst into the kitchen fortress of domestic independence! hehehe, a little too far with the metaphor, I know. I do enjoy the spatulas though :D