The Dangerous Disaster that is My Cooking

I’m sure many Americans have heard Sydnie’s favorite story to tell about my cooking. And if you haven’t, then you clearly employ the art of not listening to Syd whilst she is in her rant mood. (A good choice. It’s what I do) “I just insult her. It’s much more fun.” “That’s because you have a black hole where your heart should be. (With love).” Anyway, if you haven’t learned to tune out her rants and you have heard the story, you can just skip the next paragraph because I’m going to summarize it. “And if you don’t know the story, skip the next paragraph because it will bore you to death.”

So, once upon a time, Sydnie and I were cooking scones. I accidently put a tablespoon of salt in rather than a teaspoon and effectively ruined them. Why? I don’t know, maybe it was because we were making the worse pastry in the world and I wanted to make cookies instead (But I was a pushover back then and always did what Syd wanted) so I subconsciously ruined them on purpose. Or maybe it was because Syd handed me a tablespoon and told me to but a teaspoon of salt in. Or maybe it truly was because I didn’t know the difference between a tablespoon and a teaspoon and didn’t care enough to ask. Or maybe Syd ruined them later and simply blamed poor younger me. I guess we’ll never know. The point is, me+cooking=disaster.

Now, you might be wondering what cooking with Syd so many years ago has to do with me, right now, in Australia. “Or you might have stopped reading because NOBODY CARES.” Well, I will tell you, right after this commercial break.

…

Commercial: *Strangely attractive washed up Australian actor on screen* Do you have a particularly annoying pest you could do without?

Me: “Why yes, I do. *Looks pointedly at Eden*

Commercial: Yes? Well just call the Handy Dandy Aussie Pest Exterminator. We’ll get rid of your pests the- er- humane was *screaming animated cockroaches being thrown live into a meat grinder churning out hotdogs in the background* at a fair price. No Credit? No Problem. We’ll set an “easy” long-term payment plan in which we’ll be hounding you via debt collectors until you crack. Just call our service number:

0456773822, That’s 0456773822. Terms and conditions apply. Company not responsible for return pests.

Me: Hmm, getting rid of pests in a humane way. What was that number again? Excuse me while I go make a quick phone call.

…

So, now that our little pest problem is taken care of. *Eden being dragged off by gorilla men* “Noooo, you can’t do this to me, I’m a ninja.” “Rule number 27 of being a ninja, Eden, never admit to being a ninja.” We can continue with our tale.

Exhibit one:

The Pizza.

From Other in May

Now we all know what a wonderful food pizza is. We eat it, we make it, we pay doctor’s bills because of it. But you know what makes pizza even better then the grease laden, calorie filled, heart stopper that it is? Add a little vampire (and I mean real vampires not the oversized sparkling fairies Stephanie Myers writes about) food. Yes, that’s right. Pizza is great; why not add a couple drops of human blood? Heck, for all we know, they could do it in restaurants. The sauce is red. And pizza hut changed their fifty-year-old recipe right in the middle of a “vampire” (oversized sparkling fairy) craze. Very suspicious. So these were my thoughts on pizza night. This thought (and the fact I was watching Glee while opening a package of cabanossi with a freshly sharpened steak knife) was just the incentive I needed to cut open my finger and bring our pizza making up to the twenty-first century. For those of you who don’t know, I’m a bleeder. So, this simple little no big deal cut, got me out of cooking that night. Instead, I had to elevate my finger while applying pressure. I’m not going to say that this wasn’t part of my brilliant plan.

From Other in May

Exhibit Two:

The Green Chili

From Other in May

Ok, so this accident has nothing to do with taste. How could it? Glass doesn’t taste good. Plus, it would give an unnecessary crunch to the green chili. Ick. So maybe I was a little upset because the amount of chilies I was allowed to put in the chili wouldn’t make a two-year-old’s tongue burn. But hey, that doesn’t mean I smashed the glass on purpose. We’ll just say it was in the wrong place at the wrong time. It could have happened to anything; Eden’s face, a priceless china statue, my history book, Eden’s face. You just can’t control my elbows when you tell me to shake something. Especially when the thing I was shaking was stubborn and the meat wouldn’t get coated with flour. And maybe my subconscious was making a statement about the lack of chili in the green chili. (My subconscious is very vengeful.) But you can’t blame me for that. My subconscious forced my arm to hit that stupid glass glass, which by the way, what is glass doing by me anyway? Looking at my track record, i.e. the shower door, and my cooking failures, the table should have been clear of anything precious. From now on, when I am cooking, only plastic glasses should be allowed anywhere near me. Problem solved. Anyway, when I knocked the glass over, everything slowed down. I’m surprised I didn’t dive for the glass shouting nooooooooooo. The sound came before the glass actually hit the ground. It was really weird. I stopped helping after that.

From Other in May

Exhibit Three:

The Chimichangas

From Other in May

This one wasn’t my fault. Really. I didn’t even knock over the plate. Yes, it was because of the ridiculous about of butter on the tortilla that the plate stuck to it and then shattered. And yes I was the one who buttered the tortilla in the first place, but still, I didn’t actually break the plate. You may be asking, why did you put so much butter on the tortillas. Well, this is very simple. The butter container I used to butter tortillas was the same butter container I used when scooping two large spoonfuls out for sopapillas. This means that the butter has two ice cream scoop size holes in it. This really, really bothered me. For the past two weeks, I’ve been over buttering everything trying to single-handedly even the butter. This was my chance. Each tortilla had about triple the necessary butter on it. This was both good and bad. It was good because the butter was now even. It was good because who doesn’t love butter and it makes the chimis extra crispy. It was bad because we now all have clogged arteries and I’m going to dye when I try to play rugby again. It was bad because the butter caused all the tortillas to stick to each other and to the plate. Indirectly causing the plate to break. (Opps)

From Other in May

In Conclusion:

Cooking with me is dangerous. I am easily distracted and my subconscious takes control. Glass is never safe around me. I over butter things because I like the butter to be evenly spread around the container. But, everything I’ve made tastes really good. I promise. (And you have to admit it does look appetizing.) There is one other downside to cooking with me. I leave a really big mess.

From Other in May

Oh, I almost forgot. The questions posed at the end of last entry. Is there really a moon? I will answer this with another question. Is there really anything? How can we prove that anything does exist? This could all be a figment of my imagination for all we know. Maybe the world will stop turning as soon as I die. Maybe I’m making all of this up as I go along. But my answer is, we cannot actually prove that anything does exist nor can we prove that anything doesn’t exist. And when we cannot prove that something doesn’t exist, there is always a chance that is might. And life’s ultimate question? That is quite simple. What is 6X7?

Thus ends another tale in the most excellent adventures of Hannah and Eden. Well, now that Eden has been humanely disposed of… “I’m back. Ha. I win. Everyone, Hannah is a man.” “Wow, not even exterminating you teaches you a better insult. How sad. I think I’ll get you a book of insults for your birthday. Now I should go call that company. Oh wait, not responsible for returned pests. Damn. Looks like I’m going to have to keep you around anyway.”

Bye, bye now. Show’s over folks. Next up, Uluru. Unless nothing interesting happens. Then it will just be pictures.