Cooking Fails

I wrote this post around the same time as the last post. Except I figured it was too soon to post another one. So of course that resulted in me waiting about a month to post it. It's only logical.

Usually I'm pretty good at cooking. Cooking with me is never an adventure. I get everything or most everything out. And right after I use it, I put it away. Which is annoying sometimes, especially if things are timed. It also results in me eating cold food a lot because things are put away before I eat. But it's just what I have to do. The rest of my life is not neat, but for some reason while cooking it is. If someone else cooks I couldn't care less about the mess. But, I make what I made and that's it. Easy.

Meanwhile, cooking with my roommate from last year, I'll call her... Joe (until she gives me a better name... that's right, pressure is on) nevermind, she's already used her name so, Ashton, is always an adventure. I frequently get texts from her saying crazy things that happened in her kitchen. She always has a story. When I'm at her house and she's in the kitchen, she's probably swearing about making a huge mess or injuring herself.

However, things for me can't always go well. Sunday night I was trying to decide what to make before going to her house and I decided on something easy, frozen pizza. Very healthy, I know. Usually when this happens I end up eating the entire pizza, but I promised myself that I would eat only half of it and save the other half for Monday night.

I preheated the oven, put the pizza in, and waited. When the pizza was done I realize, as I did all the times before, I don't actually have any oven mitts. However, I solved the problem the same way I did all the other times before, I used a towel to grab it and my other hand to sort of scoot it on to the towel. Now, I have no idea what happened. I may have touched the oven rack. The pizza might have been hotter than usual. Maybe I just had bigger reflexes or less of a pain tolerance. I don't know. Whatever the reason, the result was the same. My pizza did not stay nicely balanced on my hand with the cloth. Instead it fell back into the oven. Except it did not land on its back - it landed on its face. Within seconds, before my very eyes, all the cheese had melted off of the crust into the oven. Oops. I grabbed the crust as quickly as I could, but it was too late. In my hand was a plain crust with only a few traces of sauce and in the bottom of the oven was cheese - a lot of cheese. In retrospect, I wish I had taken a picture of the glorious mess I had made.

I glanced over at the roommates watching TV on the couch - I hadn't gotten a single look from them. Which was weird because I think they have some sort of remote monitoring device in the kitchen. Every time I use it one of them shows up and watches me. I'm dead serious. The other day one of them sat with the TV on, watching me, and as soon as I went back to my room, she turned the TV off and went to hers. It's like they don't think I can use the kitchen or something. I mean, had the pizza thing happened first, I totally would have understood. But it didn't. Every time one of them (same one who was watching me that time) uses the oven she sets off the fire alarm. They cook everything in the microwave or eat something frozen up in the oven, they're the ones who can't cook. The most complicated thing they can cook is pancakes from a mix... and my sisters can make better ones from scratch without a recipe. Yes, that's right. My younger (and older) sisters can cook better than me. But I spend more time not moving. And that is clearly the more important life skill.

Anyways... I looked at my phone and realized Joe Ashton was going to be there soon. And I somehow had to clean the oven before anyone noticed. Even though they were all in the living room. Probably watching me when I wasn't looking. I turned off the oven and use the rag that had failed me to scoop cheese off the bottom of the oven. I actually would recommend this method if you ever decide to get pizza all over your oven. Go back and forth between the oven and the sink washing off what cheese you can from the rag using cold water. It took a really long time. I mean a really long time. And every time I looked over the roommates hadn't moved. Weird, right? The rag then ended up in my shower for a few weeks until it went in the washing machine. When I don't want to deal with something, I put it in my shower. If you live with me, I promise I never put trash bags in the shower. Never.

So, for the record, this is something I do not recommend. I would give it 1/10. I can't give it a 0/10 because I learned how to clean cheese out of the oven. If you do this you will 1. burn your fingers 2. have to clean the oven and, of course, the most tragic 3. not get any pizza.

Then on Tuesday, at Joe's Ashton's house, I burnt my arm making ice cream.
Yes, you read that correctly. I burnt my arm making ice cream.
'nuff said.


Since then I have not had any kitchen disasters, that I remember. And it drives me crazy that they watch me. And then have conversations about why the fire alarm isn't going off. Trying to explain that when I cook there's steam and not smoke did not help. Oh well, maybe they're just jealous of my skills because I know that there are things that can be eaten that do not come pre-made, frozen. Probably.

I am also working on a political cartoon. And by working on it I mean made it up yesterday and tried to draw it a few times. Remember my drawing skills? Yeeah. Later I will probably draw it a few more times, pick the best one, and call it a day. And then I will post it. And we will all pretend that it's supposed to look like that, and not that I can't draw to save my life. Or no one will care because it will be that awesome. And now I will go back to reading Allie Brosh's book, Hyperbole and a Half, who, if you haven't been to her blog, you should. The link should be over that way ----> (see, I can even draw arrows well).

For more accidents in the kitchen see part two.