Thursday, December 6, 2007

Burnt Chicken, Enigmatic Green Beans

Oh dear. I had hoped my first real post in my food blog would be about food that is, well, good. But alas, I am afraid it is not to be. Last night was a humbling experience to say the least.

My girlfriend and I are in the process of repainting and moving into a new house. On top of this already demanding task, we both have finals, and work, and Christmas shopping, and everything else that attempts to spoil the milk of the holiday season. But we're ambitious! Last night we had decided that we WOULD finish painting the trim of our living room, despite the fact that Danielle gets off at 11, we both had to be up very early this morning, and the state of the trim was disastrous. In addition, being the sweet and romantic girlfriend I tend to be, I decided to cook the First Dinner In Our New Home. (Reserve "Awwws" until the end of the story to determine if you still think it merits them.) I went to our old house, gathered the necessary ingredients and implements (nothing too fancy- just schnitzel and garlic sauteed green beans on the menu) and headed to the new house to begin cooking. As I left I felt one fleeting notion that it would be just as romantic to prepare the dinner at our old house and transport it, but quickly dismissed it, rationalizing that it must be cooked there, not just eaten, to be the First Dinner In Our New Home. Go figure.

So. I pounded, sliced, and breaded the chicken, and began heating the oil. Immediately things began to go awry. Much to my chagrine smoke began slithering up around the coils of the burner and around the pan. Apparently the last tenant did not do a good job of keeping food off of the burners, and I did not do a good job of cleaning them. I rationalized (I am beginning to see that this a problem for me) that it couldn't be very much, and it would quickly burn away, and it would be okay for me to cook the chicken. The stove had different ideas. Sure enough, a moment after I put the chicken down, the smoke alarm began screaming with a veracity unpredictable by its dingy exterior. I immediately flipped off the burner, began opening windows and doors, and flapping a dishcloth at the detector like a madwoman.

However (as usual) I had forgotten just one TINY detail. Being a woman accustomed to cooking with a gas stove, I had not taken into account that while the burner may be off, the residual heat will linger for quite some time. So the chicken remained on the burner, still cooking. Still smoking. Still absorbing oil. And eventually, burning. By the time I realized this and blurted out the appropriate expletive, the smoke alarm was going off again, and it was too late for the chicken anyway. I put it in the oven to finish browning the side I had not gotten to. Oh well, even if it wasn't very good, there would be green beans. Right? Except I'd forgotten a can opener.

So. When Danielle got home, we sat down at the lovely tablescape (or floorscape, as the case may be, as we don't have a table yet) I had set up, a tablecloth with candles and wine glasses and plastic plates and utensils, to chicken that had confounded me, green beans that had eluded me, and wine that cheered us both.

Love,

The Absentminded Chef (I think I am living up to my namesake)

No comments: