Ruminations of a Red Dirt Hussy

December 1, 2013

Kitchen kerfuffles

Everything was fine until I got whipped cream on the walls. And the curtains. And the counter, cabinets, and me. Personally, I don’t see the big deal. Does it come off? Yes. Eventually. Am I the only person this ever happened to? No. Well, probably not. In any case, I really shouldn’t be judged by this one unfortunate incident, and I certainly should not have been made to leave the kitchen.

Oh, all right. There might have been other events. But they were spread out over, like, 35 years. And, depending on your perspective, they weren’t all complete disasters.  If you think everything you cook has to be edible, then, yeah. Some might have been considered ill-conceived.

First there was the turkey thing. Not. My. Fault.  Who knew there were body parts inside? I mean, if somebody is going to hide things inside a bird, they should put a note somewhere on the outside. They should also say that when you cook giblets anywhere, in or out, you should remove them from the little paper bag they’re in. And anyway, they got cooked, didn’t they? Sort of.  And it’s not like we didn’t eat that turkey. Most of it.

Later, there was the fish pot pie fiasco. Oh, come on. Don’t you judge me! A lot of things in history have seemed like good ideas at the time—the Ford Pinto, Windows 95, parachute pants, disco—but turned out not to be.  Just ask yourself: Is chicken pot pie good? Yes. Is turkey pot pie good? Yes. Is beef pot pie good? Yes. So tell me. Who would ever dream fish pot pie wouldn’t be the same? I sure didn’t. And by no stretch of the imagination is such a minor culinary misstep on the same level as an exploding gas tank, although I guess it might rank up there with disco and parachute pants.

Oh. Yeah. I forgot about the gizzard thing.  I grew up eating them, along with some things that are really disgusting, like beef tongue and ox tail.  In this case I was just trying to eat healthy.  I figured since fried food wasn’t really good for you and I liked gizzards, I would make gizzard stew. I did everything right–cut the gizzards into bite size pieces, boiled them until they were as tender as gizzards get, which, granted, is about as tender as an old boot. Not bad, though, since they start out like a new boot. I put in all kinds of vegetables and such, and I was really quite proud of my innovative cookery. I was clearly on the cutting edge. When we tried to eat it, I understood how Betty Crocker and Julia Child might have overlooked this particular dish. Who knew you needed a little fat for good stew? Further, who even considered whether gizzards had said fat? Let me tell you now, they don’t. Neither do livers, but that’s another story.

And I know I told you about the Great Shrimpcident of 2012. Or maybe 2013. It was pretty traumatic, so I think I suppressed the memory. All I know is that Zatarain’s little bags of shrimp seasoning will make your shrimp water boil over, and it will stain all those towels you use to mop it up, so you definitely should not go to the bathroom in the midst of boiling any damned shrimp.

While I’m here, I should probably caution you about dredging chicken in powdered sugar before you fry it. I’m not saying I’ve ever done that.  But if I had, there’s no way it was my fault. I mean, who in his right mind would store powdered sugar, which looks exactly like flour, in an unmarked container? Answer me that!  Did the nameless  cook think it was weird that the flour kept disappearing before she could even get the chicken in the skillet? Of course she did. What, do you think she’s crazy or something? And you really can’t blame her. For all she knew it was a special kind of flour. Disappearing flour. There was no way for her to know it was powdered sugar unless she was to lick a chicken thigh or something after rolling it in the “flour.”  And it’s a well-known fact that nice girls do not lick chicken parts. That’s how bad reputations get made.

I’m feeling a teensy bit queasy now, so I’m going to tell you this one last thing. For your own good and the good of anybody who has to eat what you cook, remember that there’s not enough salsa on the planet to make potted meat enchiladas edible.




  1. For a moment there I thought you were going to leave out The Great Shrimpcident, one of my favorite blogs ever. Your transparency is so charming 🙂


    Comment by Michelle — December 1, 2013 @ 6:55 pm | Reply

  2. This reminds me of my girlfriend, Arnelle, who had a giant grease stain on her wall for over 9 years. She refused to try to erase it. It was living proof that her husband (at the time) had thrown a pan full of bacon and grease at her—and missed. Do I have to tell you she lived in a trailer?


    Comment by ponytail girl — December 4, 2013 @ 1:25 pm | Reply

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