"It's not cooking! I following the recipe and it's NOT COOKING!" I shrieked the other night.
This is why I should NOT follow a recipe on the back of the foil box. I mean, duh.
The recipe was for chicken thighs and you put spices and vegetables around them. Then you covered it with foil and cooked it for 50 minutes.
I did this.
But the chicken thighs were still pink the middle.
"I FOLLOWED THE RECIPE!" I shouted again. "I hate cooking. I'm done. No more cooking for me. We'll have to win the lottery and hire a cook because cooking SUCKS!" I'd have given the chicken the middle finger if Natalie hadn't wandered in the kitchen.
"It's fine," Tom said. "We'll stick it back in the oven. That's all."
So we set the timer for ten minutes. Surely the chicken would be ready by then.
The chicken was still bloody and gross.
"Cooking can kiss my ass," I hissed at Tom. There were no kids in the room at this point.
"Gee, I wonder where Natalie gets her dramatics," Tom answered, deadpan.
And you know what else? The vegetables were still hard even though the recipe said the vegetables would be soft.
I am not the best cook. But I do try.
It just upsets me when something doesn't go right. Especially when I'm hungry and ready to eat.
We ended up scraping the cooked bits of chicken mixed with the hard vegetables. It was like some weird chicken salad. The kids were afraid of it so they had like two bites and claimed they were full.
I really wish I could hire a private chef.
Maybe one day?
(I doubt it. But a woman can hope..)