(By GTCostica and Launie K.)
GTCostica:
What constitutes a kitchen disaster? I racked my brain trying to define it. It has to be something funny but safe. A disaster should be one where no one gets seriously injured and you can laugh about it afterwards.
Now, I have walked away from the kitchen and sat in front of the computer many times, only to come back to a pan of burnt onions or pasta stuck to the bottom of the pan. Nothing really amusing there. I thought about stealing my mother-in-law’s stories and sharing the lump-of-coal roast one with you, but then my husband M saved me: He decided to make chocolate chip cookies using a recipe in Spanish (he doesn’t speak any) while I was out of the house.
I was leaving the house a few weeks ago to go to a meeting, and M decided his cookie craving had reached its apex. Before I left, I opened the page to the Neiman Marcus Chocolate Chip Cookie recipe that my mother had translated to Spanish. A few years ago, I had written some translations in pencil because I thought it could help M learn some Spanish while we made cookies together. All I changed were the ingredients and the initials to the measurements: huevos became eggs, tz. became cups, and cdta became teaspoon. As I was walking out the door, M asked me how many sticks of butter was one cup, I quickly answered two, and thought nothing else.
When I came back, it certainly smelled like cookies. I walked in the kitchen, and thought to myself: “Man, those are some ugly motherfuckers.” The cookies were flat and crispy, and the chocolate chips were sticking out of the batter. I went looking for M, and he was crestfallen, since something was obviously wrong with the cookies.
We walked back in the kitchen, and I mention to him how it looked like he had used too much butter. “I used one cup, like the recipe said.” I look at the recipe, and right above “1/2 tz. de mantequilla,” I had written “cup butter.” He had use two sticks of butter instead of one. Then, I looked further down, where the recipe called for “1 ¾ tz. de harina.” I had written next to it C. flour. He had used only one cup of flour. Not only had he doubled the butter, he had pretty much halved the flour. I started laughing. Then he mentioned how he had already eaten three of the cookies. I laughed some more. Needless to say, we tossed the “butter” cookies and made some proper chocolate chip cookies that evening.
LaunieK.: My worst cooking disaster or “Second Degree Regret.“
Last July, a good friend of mine was throwing her husband a birthday party and there were going to be around 10 people there. I’d volunteered to make a pork tenderloin to throw into the mix and a side dish. The night before the party I called my friend. We chatted/complained about the heat because even at night the temperature hadn’t been dipping below the low 90’s. It was miserable. But the reason for my call was that I wanted to make sure that she still wanted me to make the little pork tenderloin.
“Well, yes,” she said.
“Oh, I was just double-checking,” I said.
“You are still bringing that, right?” she asked nervously.
“Oh, yeah,” I said.
“Whew, because that’s the only meat that’s going to be at the party.”
She and I had gotten our signals crossed. She thought I was bringing a pork loin which can feed around 10 people, and I only had my puny pork tenderloin which can (maybe) feed 4 people if you slice the meat thin enough.
I was up the proverbial creek.
It was 10 at night. The party was at noon the next day. I had just finished my last night at a horrible job. The grocery stores were closed.
And it was close to 90 degrees in the apartment even with the air-conditioner going full blast.
Sometimes I keep frozen meat in the freezer. I dug around and luckily found a large package bone-in chicken breasts in the back.
Whew. I could pull of making meat for 10 people.
I changed out of my work clothes, poured a vodka tonic and cranked a doo wop radio show. I had a lot of ground to cover in a short period of time – when all I wanted to do was sit in front of a fan, and the air-conditioner in the living room while watching “Psych.”
I was inspired to get in and out of the kitchen quickly.
So, I spiced the pork, seared it in a frying pan and then I threw the pan into the 425 degree oven. I got the chicken into the microwave to thaw. I had my hair up, and a towel wrapped around my neck because it was so hot that I was afraid of sweating on the meat. I chopped the vegetables for the side dish. When the alarm went off for the pork, I pulled it out and put it on the stove top. I checked the temperature and it was right on.
I was almost done!
The microwave chirped because the chicken had finished defrosting. I pulled the chicken out, realized there was no counter space to put in on – and I picked up the frying pan with the pork to make room. With my bare hand.
I let the pan go and clutched my hand reflexively. I was dizzy and nauseous. I slowly opened my hand and saw 8 angry blisters staring back at me.
And then I almost fainted.
I skipped the party the next day because my hand was bandaged, and I didn’t want to
tell the truth, and I couldn’t think of a plausible lie.
My husband went to deliver the food and made an excuse for me.
He told me that a couple of people had really enjoyed the little tenderloin.
Because I was so mad that it was hot, I was careless in the kitchen and ended up with a second degree burn on my hand. That was also my last night at the aforementioned horrible job. I had quit to do freelance writing. But, I spent the next month typing with one hand which is as fast and efficient as you would imagine it to be.
And kids, that’s the reason why you don’t cook when you’re in a hurry.
So tell us, what’s your worst cooking disaster story?
