Our family is in a period of reorganizing. We've had a busy summer and our big commitments have come to a close. Summer day camp is over and it will be a few weeks before my kids start "school." Jackson will be in pre-k and Annabeth will start mother's day out for the first time. I don't really remember what it's like to be alone in my house and I am very excited to get in touch with that feeling again.
Since we're in this reorganization phase, I decided it would be beneficial to get reacquainted with my kitchen. Actually, if you want to get down to the nitty gritty, I was begging and pleading with my husband for something and my end of the deal was that I'd cook more. So there you have it.
It's gone pretty well until today! I made cheesy enchiladas on Monday night and still managed to get to my aerobics class at 5:45. I probably smelled like a sweaty onion, but I felt like every woman. As a bonus, I was so flushed from the hot kitchen that my skin looked youthful and dewy. Score!
Early yesterday morning I went to HEB to restock our fridge and pantry. And I think we were down to one diaper, which is not a good feeling. I tried to get everything I needed to make our favorite chicken cheddar rice bake. I haven't made it since before my weight loss extravaganza and it just sounds good. However, I was there so darn early that there were no rotisserie chickens. What!?!? Come on, HEB! Doesn't the early bird get the bird?
I thought it would be fun to deviate from our normal toast-for-breakfast routine, so I bought canned biscuits and some reduced fat breakfast sausage. Oh, help me Jesus. Y'all know I have major issues with raw meat. Beef is relatively easy for me because I can just remind myself that Curtis eats his steaks medium rare and lives to tell about it. But poultry and pork send me over the edge. And never once have I cooked seafood (beyond fish sticks) in my kitchen. So the sausage. I pumped myself up to be a big girl about it. I put the biscuits in the oven and boldly turned toward the roll of raw meat. I followed the directions perfectly. Yet when I turned the patties over they were totally blackened. Awesome. I sent a picture to my mom and said "Nanny lives on." My grandmother was famous for serving up sausage patties that looked like coal.
By then the biscuits were ready to come out and they were well done, to say the least. Four minutes later - just as the directions said - my sausage patties were ready! The other sides didn't get as black and I thought that was a good thing.
I obsessively cut into several patties to check for any pink and I thought we were all good. Then I started eating. And I couldn't fight the feeling that the meat was pink! Several patties went in the trash. I started getting a stomach ache just anticipating the impending food poisoning. Isn't it fun to be me?
Before my obsessive compulsive meltdown, Curtis, who should have been packing my bags to take me to a special home, wrapped a sausage biscuit in some foil to take with him to work. Then he realized he didn't have his wallet. (He'd left it at my mom's and she was bringing it to him later.) A look of sheer disappointment and devastation came across his face. He was totally playing me! He was taking the food as a front but still planning on going to McD's for cinnamon melts! Caught in the act!
In the end, how can I blame him? I overcooked the biscuits, over and undercooked the sausage, and even managed to steep my tea for twice as long as I should have.
I think the moral of this story is STEP AWAY FROM THE KITCHEN, AMANDA JONES.