To understand this tale of woe, I think you need a visual of my kitchen in your mind. First of all I live in a little house that was built in the late forties. It's a split level and the top floor has 800 square feet. There's the living room, the bathroom, the bedrooms, the hall closets and by the time you enter the kitchen, you have a tiny space that although would still be the envy of most New Yorkers, is difficult to work in because of the lack of counter top. On the one side, I have a stove and the bit of counter space between the double sink and the frig, which has a drainer on it that is only moved when guests come over. (I'm a Mom, do you know how many dishes I do? If there isn't dishes in it, there will be.)
The other side...what other side? I have shelving for clean dishes and a small counter top for the much needed and very used appliances. (And no there isn't a coffee pot there, but there should be.)
So when I'm cooking, I tend to -stir, mix, beat, whip, stuff, crunch, flatten- things in bowls on the edge of my sink or on an unused burner. This is the most inefficient way of cooking ever. I've even cooked over an open flame while camping, that was easier. Do you know how hard it is to mix a bowl of ingredients over a full sink of soapy dishes? It is a test in endurance, patience and ability. I watch those Extreme cooking shows on the Food Network, their contestants are weak. If you want a challenge, try a four course meal in my kitchen. That will toughen you up...or make you cry for your Momma. Like the Chairman on Iron Chef, my kitchen does not care for whining, moaning or bleeding digits.
Redesigning my kitchen is on the top of my list once I have money burning a hole in my pocket or even in my couch cushions. But in the meantime, back to my tale of woe...
It was a lovely summer afternoon, the sort that calls for a really good meal, like corn on the cob and potato salad. I had never attempted to make potato salad from scratch. Which is surprising considering all the cooking I do, but you have to understand my Grandpa on my Mom's side is German. He's very proud to be very German too. And he has the stories to prove it. The Irish might be well known for their tales of blarney but I hate to say it, in case I upset my Irish relatives, but the Germans have them beat. Not only does a German tell just as many tales, they know their stories are better than anyone else's in the world too.
When we have family get togethers, he makes the potato salad. I make the pies, and everyone else is free to bring whatever they want. It's tradition and it's just the way it is.
But I wanted to make potato salad for hero hottie and the kids. I carefully peeled, chopping perfect bite sized pieces. And then boiled them until they were just tender but not starchy and falling apart like some mashed potato dish wanting to be a salad. I had watched my Grandpa do this. This couldn't be so difficult.
I chilled the potatoes in the frig and then I mixed the pickle juice, mustard and mayo with all my secret spices(mostly pepper and salt) before stirring it all together into the delicious signature dish of summer. Then with a bit of trepidation I took a bite...and it was so yummy. The potatoes were tender, the mixture creamy and smooth but with just a bit of tangy from the pickle juice and mustard. I was thrilled. Hero hottie tried it and loved it. Mission accomplished.
And then the unthinkable. The heartache. The frustration. I was scooping potato salad onto my plate, after everyone else had loaded up their plates when the bowl, which was balanced on the edge of the kitchen sink, the kitchen sink full of soapy water, tipped to one side.
I struggled to catch it but I was holding my plate in one hand, the spoon to grab just one more little scoop of potato salad in the other hand and I had to watch as the bowl tipped to the other side and then landed with a flat thud into the soapy water. It tilted a bit when it landed and took in soapy water like a sinking ship and before I could save it, the rest of my potato salad had drowned in the dirty sea of dish water.
My beautiful creation of mayo and mustard and potatoes was now a sloppy mess of soap bubbles and watered down goodness. On one positive note everyone had a serving on their plates.
On the woeful side, the dish I had spent so much time and effort into was now a victim of my cruel kitchen. There would be no lovely left overs for lunch the next day. No stolen spoonfuls before being put in the frig. Nothing but the watery mess that would have to be thrown away.
So I did what every sensible cook does in a situation like that...I cried in the little bit of potato salad on my plate. And I have to say it helped quite a bit. People should cry more in their beers and over spilled milk, the tears just fix everything and like magic my potato salad came popping out of the dirty water and was fine. Okay, okay. I'm being sarcastic, with myself. Crying did not help...at all. The only thing that actually made me feel better was the hugs I got from my children. Those made me feel better. A lot better. And just a bit silly. Because I was making them worry over me and the only thing I was crying over was a bit of hard work and a little bit of drowned potatoes.
So the moral of this woeful tale is: Hugs are awesome...and make some money to design a new kitchen. No, that last part is wishful thinking. The real learning lesson is don't make potato salad over a sink full of dishes.Oh, and maybe don't let little, silly things like drowned potato salad slow you down in life.
Hugs are still awesome though.
No comments:
Post a Comment