Coming up with those memories is easy. It’s the darker underbelly of the cooking experience that is sometimes missing from our family histories.
I offer as Exhibit A my dinner experience of last evening. I love to cook and like to think I do a pretty good job, most of the time. My wife is every bit as good a cook as I am but over the years I’ve turned into something of a “kitchen hog,” a trait she indulges.
For dinner last night, I made pizza, something of a house specialty. My whole wheat crust with relatively light marinara sauce is healthier and just as tasty as those found in most pizza places but I decided to take a bold step in a new direction last night.
I always make two pizzas, allowing us to freeze one for later. My first pizza was your basic vegetarian offering – mushrooms, ripe olives, green & red bell pepper, provolone & mozzarella cheeses. My second pizza consisted of olive oil sprayed on a half-baked crust, topped with a thin layer of pesto, sliced tomato and cheeses.
I thought it might taste a bit like a summer favorite, the margharita, but it tasted more like cheese-topped mud. A dud for sure.
As kitchen mistakes go, this one wasn’t so bad. Certainly not as bad as the time(s) we set off smoke alarms making blackened fish in a white-hot cast iron skillet or the time a skillet of grease caught fire on the stove.
The lesson here is to push your memory beyond the obvious. Sometimes the stories that easily pop to mind aren’t the most interesting ones.
Writing prompt for the day: What kitchen disaster stories do you remember?
Flickr photo of Larry Lehmer and Rose Hayes fromlwlehmer.