Confessions

Gordon Ramsey I am not.

Or is it Dave Ramsey?

Well, regardless, I’m neither. Gordon is the one in the kitchen…..? *does quick Google search* Yeah, Gordon is the one in the kitchen.

I’ve never been known as an aficionado in the kitchen and I don’t believe I ever will be. There’s a part of me that’s ok with that, but some piece of me wishes I could be like the Chef himself…minus all of the swearing, verbal abuse, etc…

I mean you are reading this from a guy who asked “How does someone make waffles” as he was pouring pancake batter into a waffle maker. As you may imagine, I was quite surprised when pancakes were not what I found in my little oven ten minutes later.

I’ve progressed and moved on to finer things in the culinary world but I still find myself strapped. It’s a frustrating cycle because I know I need to save money and eat at home. No one makes better food than my mother and Moe’s, though. The unfortunate side of things is my mother is ten hours away and Moe’s is ten dollars a basket.

I did the responsible thing this evening and made dinner for myself and my roommate. We’ve been attempting to get healthier by running/working out/torturing our physical bodies together and part of that is diet. It’s also time to buy new groceries so I needed to rid my fridge of what was left.

Picture this: There I am, a 27 (I almost wrote 26 and had to correct myself. I’m in denial about getting older) bachelor chilling in his Elevation Church shirt, some ratty shorts, hair slicked back-don’t care kind of attitude. The freezer burned chicken is steadily defrosting, the dishes are washing, and the broccoli is sitting on the counter lookin’ like a healthy snacc (spelling intentional).

I grab a knife to begin cutting the fat off the chicken and my mind starts wandering off to places unknown. I’m aware of the chicken breast in my hand because of that nasty, almost slimy feeling it gives off, you know? I also know that my right hand is slicin’ and dicin’ but I wasn’t all that conscious about what it was slicin’ and dicin’…or at least what it was about to.

It’s also kind of funny because for a split second I snapped back into reality and briefly thought, “Careful…the knife is going to slip loose and slice your thu…”

*slice*

That’s not even a sound a knife makes, let alone when piercing flesh but it works. Next thing you know I’m mentally bashing myself for not being too careful while the blood is pouring out of my thumb.

Y’all know how a thumb stops bleeding when it gets cut?

It doesn’t.

Y’all want to know how difficult it is to cook with one hand while the other is either a.) violating countless FDA protocols, b.) getting infected by salmonella, or c.) developing tetanus?

It’s impossible.

Luckily my roommate was gracious enough to help me and we got the chicken into the oven.

Next up, as the title gives away: green beans.

The can has one of those openers on top similar to what soda cans have. Imagine me now: A twenty-seven year old bachelor chilling with his Elevation Church shirt, ratty shorts, hair slicked back-don’t care attitude, with a jerry-rigged wash-clothe for a bandage bloody lookin’ thumb trying to open a can of green beans.

-_-

I lost half the green beans when the lid broke free and my grip broke free. Subsequently my sanity broke free shortly after that as well. Honestly, it was like the Holy Spirit showed up and loosed all these chains but they weren’t the chains I was asking Him to loose.

I digress.

Long story longer – dinner got cooked, the chicken was fantastic in my humble opinion (probably the extra seasoning if you know what I mean), and the green beans lived to see themselves consumed.

Moral of the story? If I had just gone to Moe’s I wouldn’t have a bloody thumb, a collection of dirty green beans at the bottom of the disposal, and I would have had a bangin’ Joey Bag of Donuts with free chips and salsa. I love me a good burrito…

I also love run-on sentences. You probably didn’t notice them before but you know that general feeling of exhaustion you’re feeling while reading this post right now and this sentence?

Mhm. Maybe it’s her. Maybe it’s me. Maybe it’s a run-on sentence.

Or maybe it’s Maybeline.

Any crazy kitchen stories you have for me? Leave ’em in the comments and commiserate with me.

You are loved.

You are valued.