I am not domestic...I'll hold for those of you who know me to pick your jaws up from the floor. In my post-college apartment, I ended up throwing away dishes that had been sitting unwashed in the sink for over a month. My car once doubled as a mobile trash mobile, and when I did once thoroughly clean my apartment in anticipation of a gentleman caller, I pulled a back muscle.
Then, I met a hilarious, sexy, sweet gargantuanly tall man who found me winsome and charming, and I moved in with him to start marital bliss. Our first fight was over how the dishwasher was loaded, although in my defense, I still don't know what I did wrong. He cooked, he cleaned, he tried to ignore the pairs of shoes that were scattered in various places throughout our tiny apartment. He looked away when faced with my bedside table, that no matter where I live, ends up looking like a rat's nest (eye drops, lip balm, ponytail holder, book, phone, Jimmy Hoffa).
I would also like to preface this by saying I had NO chores growing up. Sometimes, I had to fold laundry and once I can remember raking the yard while singing a slave spiritual, but I didn't even have to make up my bed until I was in high school, and I still didn't do it every day. I was not taught cleaning skills, knowing when to clean, what to use to clean, and where to clean, that you can't just wipe around stuff, that you have to pick everything up in order to clean well. Also, was not taught cooking, unless you count heating pop tarts and boiling water so I could have my precious spaghetti. All cooking is self-taught...which is fairly evident.
I have:
1. Broken a plate by setting it on a hot stove eye
2. Set a plastic Pyrex lid on fire in the oven because I thought it was oven-safe
3. Cooked chicken that was not fully thawed, resulting in disgusting, bloody chicken that still haunts my dreams.,
4. Burned at least one pot with corn that wouldn't wash out due to not realizing you have to keep liquid in the dish to avoid this.
5. Caused countless smoke plumes, resulting in the smoke alarm going off to the point that we had to just keep it unplugged.
6. Misread cake directions and cooked a cake for the 8 x 8 size, but in a 9 x 13 pan, meaning the outside of the cake was delicious, but the inside was raw.
7. Most recently, broke our pizza stone, although I maintain I used it as directed, and maybe it was just "its time."
All that being said, I am never one to shirk away from a challenge. I am, in fact, the dish Nazi now. If you leave a dish on the counter, even if you're not done, I'll rinse it. I don't like for the kitchen to look cluttered at all, and if you don't rinse your dish, God help you.
Cooking: I will tackle you yet. I can cook, no really I can. I am in constant search of easy, simple recipes, and most of what I cook Smitty really likes. The turkey meatloaf was a big fail, and something I made called sweet onion spoon bread was like onion pudding, but other than that, I do all right. It's just a big learning curve, and I secretly want to go on a home cook reality show like "Worst Cooks in America" so I can learn some stuff. I also secretly know that would end in disaster once I got yelled at and threw a pan at Anne Crazy Hair, so I practice in anonymity.
Today, I have a pork loin in a crock pot with cream of celery soup. It's supposed to be creamy and delicious and ready in 7 hours. However, I have the number for Domino's handy.
"I cook with wine, sometimes I even add it to the food."
--W.C. Fields.
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