I’m not a bad girl. Haven’t been since kids and the responsibilities that go along with them cured me. But this week, I did some bad things in my kitchen.
First, and worst: I planned to make tacos on Sunday. My grandmother, if she knew, would come right down from heaven and smack me upside the head. Sunday was a day for a family dinner. A civilized roasted whole (and only whole) chicken with potatoes and carrots. Rosemary and garlic seasoning them. A green salad with homemade oil and vinegar dressing after it. And pasta before it. On Sunday, dessert was permitted. From a bakery.
In my head, I was arguing with her that I had already thawed the ground beef. Her answer.
“Look around your kitchen. You got eggs, parmesan, bread, tomatoes, garlic, olive oil. Staples. Make meatballs. Put them in tomato sauce. And go buy a chicken! What kind of cook are you, anyway!”
My second bad was with knives. In a hurry to wash up, I put them in the sink. I was alone in my kitchen. No one got hurt. But if my culinary students knew I broke my priority knife safety rule, I’d never live it down.
My third bad happened at the Farmers’ Market. No eco-friendly shopping bag. Okay, I never bring one. I object to them. They get dirty, from lovely just picked from the earth – as in dirt as we city slickers call it. And I bet none of those reusable bag devotees ever think of turning the bags inside out to throw into the wash.
Tomorrow I will apologize in spirit to my grandmother and post a favorite chicken dinner recipe. Right now, I gotta go cook it.