Kitchen fun and games

Ilene Black Betting On Black

I am not a cook. I am not creative, enthusiastic, excited, pleasantly challenged or any other adjective you can think of when it comes to cooking. I don’t like it. AT ALL. Don’t get me wrong. I love our kitchen. It’s decorated really nicely, it’s cozy and the coffeepot and food are there. But if I am required to prepare and serve said food, I do not like the kitchen.

Plus, I am not the neatest cook. I tend to use a lot of utensils, pots, pans, and dishes when I am forced to cook. Add that to the fact that I’m usually sulking while I’m preparing a meal and you come up with, well, a disaster. Full disclosure: I am NOT graceful either. This will become relevant shortly.

Recently, we were having pot pies. Low salt pot pies. I love pot pies and all day long I looked forward to having them. Comfort food to the max. Now, one would not be blamed if one made the assumption that I wouldn’t mess up the cooking of the pot pies. I mean, how hard is it, really? You basically take them out of the plastic container, slap them on a cookie sheet and bake them for like 25 minutes. Well, friends, you know what they say about the word “assume.”

When they were done, I got a pot holder and grabbed the cookie sheet out of the oven. One handed. BAD decision. You don’t need a physics degree to realize that two moderately heavy pot pies on a flimsy cookie sheet will slide. In a panic, I grabbed the BURNING HOT cookie sheet with my free hand. The hand without the

Barber

K KEITH’S EITH’S K K KUTS UTS UTS Barber Shop

Shop

“Serving Ewing since 1953”

Keith A. Hill Sr.

Bradford C. Miller Owner/Barber

We aim to serve three generations of your family!

609-883-4033 pot holder. Alas, it was too late.

The pot pies spilled off the cookie sheet. One landed on the oven rack, upside down. The other one landed right side up on the open oven door. I screamed, “George! Help!” while shaking my burned hand.

We have been married for over 42 years. “George! Help!” could signify many things, as he is well aware. George came running into the kitchen and saw that there were no flames anywhere, that I was upright, that there was no broken crockery on the floor, and there was no blood. I think he was relieved. Until he saw what had happened.

I am yelling that my hand is burned. I had a raised burn that went diagonally across my fingers and palm. It hurt so badly that I just kept yelling. George calmly got a spatula and scooped what was left of our dinner onto the now cooledoff cookie sheet. He wiped down the stove and the floor, all without speaking a word. And yes, we ate the pot pies.

Did you know that if you have flames shooting out of a stove burner and a lot of smoke accompanying the flames, you’ll be able to see every cobweb in your kitchen really well? Even some in your living room, which is located next to the kitchen? I wouldn’t advise this method of cobweb-cleaning, but after all the hubbub surrounding the whole flames thing, it was a helpful tool. And as Forrest Gump says, “That’s all I’m gonna say about that.”

Here’s a helpful hint from the mother of two boys who inherited their mother’s immaturity. Don’t playfully squirt them with the side spray thingy on the kitchen sink while doing dishes. Especially if they’re sitting across the room at the table. And especially if they have friends over. It is a guarantee that a water war will break out, with dish suds and water flying all over the place. The only positive to come from that activity, besides being really fun, is that everyone pitched in and mopped up and I’ll tell you, my walls and ceiling have never been cleaner. I still wonder to this day what the two boys who were over for dinner and who participated in the splashdown told their parents when they came home soaking wet.

There have been times where I’ve gotten inspired to cook something new. Oddly, these times have coincided with nights where George ends up eating cheese and crackers and I dine on popcorn.

Ilene Black has been a resident of Ewing for most of her life and lives across the street from her childhood home. She and her husband,