Cooking?

being a fatty means that i love to eat. loving to eat has sparked a passion for cooking. being the people person that i am, i love to cook for crowds. the other night, we were having a few friends in and i was making a very simple chicken recipe for the occasion. i am convinced that if i fail to have a meltdown and panic in the middle of food preparation, the food wil turn out wretched.

to give a bit of background on culinary meltdowns, they are not funny. many people have this illusion (created by Amy Adams in the movie Julie and Julia) and seem to think that meltdowns are comical and even cute. the image of Julie Powell lying on the floor of her teeny kitchen after she has this cute little pout over her un-trussable chicken is quite the opposite of how i melt down.

let me paint a scenario for you: the recipe calls for a nonstick skillet, which i do not have. instead, i use a little oil and a stainless steel pan. should be fine. seeing as i am this culinary genius, i left the flame on as high as possible. when the pan proceeded to erupt in a bunch of pops, i began to panic. i was shouting incoherently at all who were in the kitchen. i lunged toward the rainstorm of hot grease with the tongs in hand. as i reached the tongs out to turn the stove down, (kep in mind i am a very large man, six foot four and WELL over 200 punds) flailing frantically, the grease attacked me and popped a good two feet and hit me squarely in the face. i began screaming expletives and jumping about in a manner ill fitting someone of my height age and girth.

this was not cute, nor was it comical. it was serious.