October 2, 2013 – Out of the Fry Pan, Into a Fire
Something very unusual happened in our kitchen last evening. I plugged in our frying pan, turned my back to chop up some onions, and I heard a “pop.” The bottom coil was on fire. I looked at it for a few seconds, thinking it might resolve on its own – my usual approach to conflict of any kind – but the flame kept on burning.
Hmm. What to do. How about unplugging it? I did. End of fire. Also end of frying pan. Sigh. I loved this frying pan. Like most everything in this household, I’ve had it for years and years. I loved the way its handles wobbled, and the shapes left where the Teflon had been scraped off the bottom. And I loved the SIZE of it. I could cook eight grilled (vegan) cheese sandwiches in it!
You may wonder why I cook up so many sandwiches at once when it’s only Laur and me living here. Two reasons – we have very big appetites, and I hate cooking. The second reason sounds counterintuitive. But think about it. If you’re going to go to all the work of bringing out bread, cheese slices and (non-hydrogenated) margarine from the fridge, and assembling it for the frying pan, it’s about the same about of work to do up eight as to do two. And if there are leftovers, tomorrow’s lunch is premade. Tra-da.
*****
It’s hard to believe that shortly after Laur and I were first married, I worked as an institutional cook and Laur ran a kitchen crew (and taught.) Wait, it gets better. We did this for FREE as part of a lay order of the Anglican Church, and the population we were working with was teenage boys, some of whom were what we used to call “JDs.”
To be honest, I had a blast. (Laur not so much.) The students were my slaves in the kitchen, and I wasn’t responsible for discipline. They’d have to do much of the chopping up before classes, while I just had to assemble it and cook it. Easy peasy. There is a saying that “Perfection is the enemy of the Good.” I am neither perfect nor good in the kitchen. And it’s made for a few calamities.
One particular day some 35 years ago when I entered the walk-in fridge, I saw trays of cut up cheese. I had no idea why they were there, but I was planning on baking bread for lunch. Wouldn’t melted cheese chunks be nice in it? We bought Rhodes frozen loaves in bulk and they had already risen and were threatening to take over the kitchen. I punched them down, rolled the cheese cubes into them, and baked them.
The students and staff loved having freshly baked bread (ahem!) to go with their canned soup. The students served the food, and the lads weren’t so bad that we couldn’t give them knives to slice up the bread with. All was well until a student yelled, “There’s turnip in this bread!” Then another student shouted “Yuck! This is disgusting.” My hubs was the lunch room monitor that day. We hadn’t been even married a year yet, so he was still prepared to defend my honour. He said loudly, “My wife made that bread. Don’t tell me it’s disgusting!” They asked him to take a bite… He nearly lost a tooth. It was turnip! Who knew? He no longer tries to defend me from accusations that I’ve done something stupid. He knows it’s likely true.
*****
I feel a little odd buying a new frying pan when we already have one – albeit only a four-sandwicher. I mean, we are supposed to be scaling back.
I also feel somewhat weirded out by all the electrical devices I leave on in my absence. Any of them could short out and start a house fire. Mind you, that would take care of our too-much-stuff problem pretty efficiently.
Gah!
Hmm. What to do. How about unplugging it? I did. End of fire. Also end of frying pan. Sigh. I loved this frying pan. Like most everything in this household, I’ve had it for years and years. I loved the way its handles wobbled, and the shapes left where the Teflon had been scraped off the bottom. And I loved the SIZE of it. I could cook eight grilled (vegan) cheese sandwiches in it!
You may wonder why I cook up so many sandwiches at once when it’s only Laur and me living here. Two reasons – we have very big appetites, and I hate cooking. The second reason sounds counterintuitive. But think about it. If you’re going to go to all the work of bringing out bread, cheese slices and (non-hydrogenated) margarine from the fridge, and assembling it for the frying pan, it’s about the same about of work to do up eight as to do two. And if there are leftovers, tomorrow’s lunch is premade. Tra-da.
*****
It’s hard to believe that shortly after Laur and I were first married, I worked as an institutional cook and Laur ran a kitchen crew (and taught.) Wait, it gets better. We did this for FREE as part of a lay order of the Anglican Church, and the population we were working with was teenage boys, some of whom were what we used to call “JDs.”
To be honest, I had a blast. (Laur not so much.) The students were my slaves in the kitchen, and I wasn’t responsible for discipline. They’d have to do much of the chopping up before classes, while I just had to assemble it and cook it. Easy peasy. There is a saying that “Perfection is the enemy of the Good.” I am neither perfect nor good in the kitchen. And it’s made for a few calamities.
One particular day some 35 years ago when I entered the walk-in fridge, I saw trays of cut up cheese. I had no idea why they were there, but I was planning on baking bread for lunch. Wouldn’t melted cheese chunks be nice in it? We bought Rhodes frozen loaves in bulk and they had already risen and were threatening to take over the kitchen. I punched them down, rolled the cheese cubes into them, and baked them.
The students and staff loved having freshly baked bread (ahem!) to go with their canned soup. The students served the food, and the lads weren’t so bad that we couldn’t give them knives to slice up the bread with. All was well until a student yelled, “There’s turnip in this bread!” Then another student shouted “Yuck! This is disgusting.” My hubs was the lunch room monitor that day. We hadn’t been even married a year yet, so he was still prepared to defend my honour. He said loudly, “My wife made that bread. Don’t tell me it’s disgusting!” They asked him to take a bite… He nearly lost a tooth. It was turnip! Who knew? He no longer tries to defend me from accusations that I’ve done something stupid. He knows it’s likely true.
*****
I feel a little odd buying a new frying pan when we already have one – albeit only a four-sandwicher. I mean, we are supposed to be scaling back.
I also feel somewhat weirded out by all the electrical devices I leave on in my absence. Any of them could short out and start a house fire. Mind you, that would take care of our too-much-stuff problem pretty efficiently.
Gah!