Friday, June 29, 2007

Don't Talk To Me While I'm Burning Dinner

"How was your day, dear?....
That bad, huh?"

"I didn't find a job."
"You've only been gone six hours, Mimi."
"I know, but I was wearing my pencil skirt. It's a crushing blow to my ego."
"Where did you go?"
(I am blubbering.) "There was ONE teaching job in my field and it's gone. I want to jump off a bridge."
"Where else did you go?"
"The community college and a myriad of other administrative offices. And then I gave up on education altogether.'
"Mimi, you've only been gone six hours.
Where else did you go?"
"I went to Macy's. If they won't hire me as a teacher, at least the other thing I'm good at is pencil skirts. And matching jewelry. Stepped into the executive office to leave a resume. No one was home. I gently spoke. "Hello." I heard people talking, high heels shuffling, earring dangling. "Helloooo?" No one ever came to the desk.

I just left, Sweetie.  I picked up a brochure and walked out."
Shoes are flung. Tissues are flying. Pantyhose are running. Smirnoff is pouring.
"Where else did you go?" asked boyfriend. (He's so persistent. Why does he have to be so interested in my day for heaven's sakes?)

I thought Dunkin' Donuts would be a nice stop. I wanted some tea."

Did I mention Smirnoff is pouring?

After forty-five minutes of sniffling and snarkling and whining and hissy-fitting, I finally got up from my brood and went into the kitchen. Maybe a little creativity will help. It was a bad idea. I wish someone had stopped me. It was not the ending I wanted to this depressing day.

The last time I "experimented" in the kitchen the food was unrecognizable, that is, after it was cooked by yours truly. Who knew mashed potatoes could be cooked three times when once was all they needed. Who knew?!

Stuffed porkloin tonight, pasta and strawberries. How hard could that be? Stuffing is stuffing is stuffing. A southern girl should be able to handle anything stuffed. I unwrap the lovely twin breasts (Is that the correct term for pork? Pork breast....pork breast....I think you just cook 'em like chicken breasts.) So I stuff it, flour it, pepper it, salt it, stuff it again and rub lots of olive oil on the lovely breasts. Who knew eroticism could be found in the kitchen? This is fun! I drank a half glass of chardonnay during the stuffing ceremony. Anyone who knows me knows this was almost a good idea.

Four-hundred fifty degrees for an hour and a half. That sounds about right. I'll have enough time to figure out how to tie the bows in the bowtie pasta.

Stumbling between the spice drawer and sink - which was now full of half-baked stuffing that I didn't like and threw out during my frolicking - I turned off the oven with a swish of my magic wand and voila! Stuffed porkloin.

I opened the door to see the results.
"How's dinner coming, Mimi?"


"Mimi?.....You've only been in there six hours."

"Well, it's dead."

After dinner, in the smokey light of burning rubber and poisonous fumes which permeated the ending to this romantic day, my boyfriend tried to make me feel better by making me laugh.

I hate it when he does that.
"The strawberries were the only saving grace. All you had to do was cut them.
If all you'd done was cut the pork we'd be eating it now and it could still be rescued."

I hate him.

"Look at the bright side, Mimi. We won't get salmonella, however, we can now carve our names on the bark of the pork."
I hate him!
It was time to make a graceful exit so I ran screaming from the room and there weren't even any lobsters involved.

"I did eat the cold pasta. It was good!" (Nice try, but too late.)

More screaming. More hissy-fitting.

"The ties were crooked and you know it!"

I remember once in a far-away marriage I was sitting across the table from hubby-dear who'd made a similar comment about my infamous cooking. Dinner ended with a plop of mashed potatoes square in the middle of his forehead.

And what did I learn from that memorable karma tonight as I sit in the twilight of burnt pork roast and a comedian for a boyfriend?

That I should have made mashed potatoes.

Note: See question #4 in his post today entitled Ghosts in the Kitchen.
He'll 'splain it.

Update: Can someone say over? Perhaps it was my cooking.


Morgen said...

Ooooh as soon as I read 450° for an hour and a half, I knew where this was headed...

MONA said...

carving names on the 'bark' of pork! LOL

This was fuming hilarious!

Wonderful post! :)

Queenie said...

For one awful moment I thought you were stuffing the pork with strawberries, then thought Mmmm maybe that might be nice!!!!
Darling love you to bits but they are not pork breasts.....!
By the way I love mash potatoe, really nice with a smashed Mimi, somewhere there is a job with your name on it, lucky them.....

Mimi Lenox said...

Morgen - I should have called you first. 450 was not a good idea.

Mimi Lenox said...

Mona - My pencil skirt thanks you. Welcome to my insanity.

Mimi Lenox said...

Queenie - Now that'sgreat idea. Strawberry - stuffed porkloin. Do you think the berries will be black though?

That was not a pork breast? What was I rubbing??!

Travis said...

I'm not a great cook, but I knew something was wrong with that 450 and hour and a half. Yikes!

But I will give you A for effort!


Empress Bee (of the High Sea) said...

mimi dear, pigs do not have breasts. they have pork bellies. sigh... i may have to drive up there and rescue you my dear. i know! you find a job and use the money to hire a cook? or let bud grill out? or how about take out, i hear if you take it out of the styrofoam it counts as cooking.

smiles, bee

Akelamalu said...

You'll find the perfect job, as long as it's not as cook! ;)

We're having strawberries today - yummy!

Bond said...

OK, the thing I noticed is someone of your experience not realizing that there is totally eroticism in the kitchen... always has been there ---always will be

Patti said...

Mimi, I also gasped when I read 450 degrees for an hour and a half.
I immediately thought "shoe leather" and smoke-filled kitchen...

I'm not a great cook by any stretch, but that was a scary concept.

And the eroticism. Very funny descriptions there, my dear.
Very funny.

So what's for Sunday dinner? They roast chickens perfectly at any local supermarket. Just sayin'

Mimi Lenox said...

Travis - At least I got a good grade from YOU. Thanks!

Want some leftover burnt pork?

Mimi Lenox said...

Bee! HELP!!

Mimi Lenox said...

Very funny Hawaiian girl.....very funny.

Mimi Lenox said...

Bond - I'll keep that in mind. Maybe I should spend more time in the kitchen!!

Or not.

Maryam in Marrakesh said...

darling, work is over-rated. We must all find a way to retire early and blog full-time. I personally am very fond of pork bark but, ahem, it doesn't go down to well here in Morocco...

Mimi Lenox said...

Patti - Shoe leather aptly describes our dining experience. Smoke-filled, too.

Maybe if I don't drink Chardonnay next time I'll notice the smoke sooner.

Mimi Lenox said...

Maryam - Work less, retire early. Exactly. Actually, my dream would be to write full-time.

Then hire a cook.

Patti said...

Hey Mimi, that's my dream too. Write full-time.

And hire a maid...

No cook, though. Ralph and I will never relinquish our kitchen.

Pauline said...

Where's the instant mash when you need it ?
btw, you have won an award, please drop by to collect it.

Desert Songbird said...

I'm not the best cook, but I knew where this was headed when I read 450 degrees.

Well, at least you get support from your loved ones. Hubby usually gives me a thumbs up (even when he doesn't really like something), but my son just looks at it and says, "That looks gross. I'm not eating that."


Ralph said...

If love is blind, could it not be tasteless as well? Well, the stffed pork at the top of the page and the mashed potatoes look absolutely delicious. If your aim is to um overcook something, I prefer a Sauvignon Blanc to a Chardonnay :>)

Dan said...

Well hell! Those mashed potatoes sure look good. Yeah, I know ... you didn't make them. :(

Next time! I'll bring chocolate cake for dessert.

Link Within

Related Posts Plugin for WordPress, Blogger...