I think my body is rejecting Burger King. See, I haven’t eaten fast food in so long, but there was a coupon for a free whopper staring at me all morning at work. Then when I left, I realized the coupon expired on the 29th, but it was too late. I had to satisfy the craving. Now I’m so sick and I don’t think I ever want to eat again. Seriously can’t figure out how I used to eat there all the time.
Oh, Green Day. Why can’t I get you out of my head? Between you and Offspring, my brain is currently on vacation in another decade. I know you want to hit that, I know you want to hit that hit that …
My lips are so sore. It started out that they were just chapped, but I think I must have been chewing on them in my sleep or nervousness or something, because they’re all raw. And then I ate sour strawberries, which I think had more acid than I really should have been putting on them. Yeah. At least this time I only burned my lips instead of getting a wicked stomachache. I think I ate too much of the white the other day.
I feel unsettled about something, but I don’t know what yet. Something is coming up and it’s not going to be good. Something in the next couple weeks. Ugh. So frustrating.
But that reminds me, I found a really neat woo woo shop online. Some of the pendulums are really pretty.
I knew that if I ate the whole carton of strawberries, I would regret it, so I didn’t. I ate three strawberries, and not even very big ones at that.
Now my stomach hurts and I am angry.
So here’s what today’s menu was supposed to be:
Rotisserie’d turkey
My grandfather’s Deluxe Rolls
Mashed potatoes
Sweet potatoes
Brussels Sprouts
Snow peas
Key Lime Pie
Boston Cream Pie
I got up early to get the rolls started. I made the dough, put it in a greased bowl and put the bowl in front of the heater. It was supposed to double in 2 hours. Over the next two hours I made both pies and finished cleaning up the living room/bathroom. Well, as much as I could until the vacuum cleaner died.
I started to put the turkey in the rotisserie and found out that I was missing a part. Okay, new plan. I don’t have a turkey-roasting rack, but I do have a cage from the rotisserie that I think you’re supposed to use for kabobs or something. I stuffed the cage full of carrots, put the turkey on the cage, and preheated the oven to 500. I put the turkey in the oven, waited five minutes for the smoke to come billowing out, then put a fan in the window and carried on. After 30 minutes, I was supposed to take the turkey out, put aluminum foil over the breast, and reduce the heat to 350. I got all of that done PLUS got a nice fat 2nd degree burn on my hand right on my mound of Venus (totally SFW — I’m not talking about the one in my crotch). I’m just wicked talented like that.
After all that, I checked on my rolls. Erh … there is no rising happening. So no rolls. I call my parents and ask them to pick some up on their way over. “No problem,” they say. “Everyone has something go wrong, and having the dough not rise is bound to be the worst of your problems.” I figured I’d tell them about the burn on my hand as a lighthearted story over dinner.
On to the potatoes! I peel both sets of potatoes, chop them up, and put them in water. I set them on the stove, ready for cooking in a little while. I worked on dinner’s playlist for a while, trying to meld my father’s taste with whatever wouldn’t drive the rest of us crazy over two hours.
My parents arrive around this time, and I take their arrival as a sign that I can hop in the shower for a couple minutes because I felt pretty skanky. When I came out again, I checked on the turkey. Half an hour of 500 degrees made it beautifully golden brown, but the thermometer barely registered anything at all, plus the oven thermometer I’d stuck in there read about 175. I pulled my mom over (quietly, trying not to get my dad’s attention), and she suggested we bring the heat up to 450 or so. Maybe my thermostat was broken. Then we tried to start the potatoes and none of the burners worked. I was out of propane.
They took me (and the friends I’d invited, who walked in the door just as I was crying about my failed dinner) out to lunch, but I am feeling awful. I wanted so badly to entertain people for a real meal. I do know how to cook, I promise. But shit like this happens and I never want to cook again.
PS, I haven’t tried the key lime pie yet, but the Boston Cream came out pretty good. I mean, it’s Boston Cream. It’s pretty tough to screw that up.
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Originally uploaded by dianarchy
A piece of chicken kiev left over from yesterday’s steam table entree. Now it’s on the salad bar and solidified.
Uploaded by dianarchy on 4 Oct 07, 11.43AM EDT.
The news last Friday of the death of the ramen noodle guy surprised those of us who had never suspected that there was such an individual. It was easy to assume that instant noodle soup was a team invention, one of those depersonalized corporate miracles, like the Honda Civic, the Sony Walkman and Hello Kitty, that sprang from that ingenious consumer-product collective known as postwar Japan.