#34 He Deals with Angry Cooking

Looking at the picture below, you might not believe when I tell you that just 20 minutes prior the scene of my stove top was quite different. Extremely different. It was much less serene, the calm glow of the snowman was not present, and most importantly, it was not at all a place of cleanliness.

(Please ignore the water burns that have not been cleaned for weeks....okay, months...)

After having not cooked for four, let's be honest, five days....I figured there was no escaping cooking dinner tonight. Therefore, I was going after a Pioneer Woman recipe that I had been avoiding for weeks due to the length of cook time: 3 1/2 hours.

Ah, Perfect Pot Roast, why must you take so dreadfully long to cook to perfection? Yes, that was the question that plagued my mind every time I thought about how delicious it would be to surprise my husband with a Perfect Pot Roast for supper.

But after days of feeding my face with Christmas cookies, chocolates, and fast food stops here and there, upon returning home from purchasing half-priced wrapping paper for next year, I rushed into my home, headed straight to the kitchen, pulled out the roast to dethaw, and began at it.

In all honesty, it was the simplest recipe possible. So, I truly cannot blame Pioneer Woman for my disastrously angry cooking behavior.

1) Heat oil until extremely hot (that sounds safe enough)

2a) Throw halved onions into the hot mess for a few minutes

2b) Take out onions without burning yourself

3a) Throw tons of carrots into the hot mess for a few minutes

3b) Take carrots out either by burning yourself because there are so many rolly pieces or by moving like a granny in order to not burn yourself. (One look at my singed right hand and I'm sure you know what choice I made).

4a) Take the three pound chuck roast and throw him into the oil.

4b) Oh yeah, then flip him over after a minute or two.

4c) Then take him out of the pot.

Okay, another burn on my wrist later and we're halfway there.

This is the point where my husband heard me screaming and saw the white clouds of flavored smells filling the entire first floor of our house. He came into the kitchen, opened the window, then looked at me and asked the dreaded question, "Is there anything I can do to help?"

I proceeded to give him a list of things clearly beyond his human capacity to accomplish. Things that involved going back in time, possessing magic powers, and being an all knowing being.

He did say 'anything'.

The next part of the recipe involved boiling beef stock, then throwing that fat bugger of a pot roast and his vegetable friends back into the pot, covering it all with more beef stock and putting it in the oven to cook for three hours.

(My pot roast waiting patiently to go in the oven).

This is when I realized I had no tin foil to cover the pot. Of course, I wouldn't be in this situation in the first place if I had a proper pot for oven cooking. But, after almost five years of marriage I still haven't become inspired enough to go out and buy a pot truly made, lid and all, for oven cooking.

Fortunately for my husband he was enraptured by 'Call of Duty'. (Occasionally, I do thank God for PS3 games). I'm sure all he heard me say, in my polite Alice in Wonderland type voice, was: "Oh dear, we are out of tin foil. Could you be a darling and run and get some when you have a minute?". When in reality it was much more like a senseless spew of screams much like that of Cruella DeVil when she yells out, "Get me those puppies!". Yet just instead of puppies it was tin foil.

He went out to Acme, I changed into clothes more suitable for angry cooking, and life was beautiful. The lesson? When you haven't cooked in days, don't rush into cooking...and go with cooking something that doesn't involve hot oil, a three pound hunk of beef, and tin foil.

Lucky for me, it came out deliciously. We were rolling out of our chairs when we finished.